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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


*-'  IM  mil  2.2 


I.I 


IS 


12  0 


1.8 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


1.25      1.4 

1.6 

-^ 6"     — 

► 

23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


^'=^;^> 


%r 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  belovu. 


m 


D 


n 


D 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommag^e 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  litre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


□    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  docume'  '~ 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int^rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  et6  film^es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires; 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  dt6  possible  de  so  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-§tre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  m^thode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


D 
D 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pellicul^es 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxe( 
Pages  d^colordes,  tachetdes  ou  piqu^es 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachdes 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materia 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


I  I  Pages  damaged/ 

I  I  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

I  I  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I  I  Pages  detached/ 

I  I  Showthrough/ 

I  I  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I  I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pagr/s  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slip's,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  filmdes  d  nouveau  de  faqon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


10X 

K;urn 

OIU  o 

SI    III 

ITI0  a 
14X 

u  lau 

A    Utf 

lOUU 

UllUll 

18X 

■  HUM 

^UV    \j 

i-uoa 

auua 

22X 

26X 

30X 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

1 

1 

lire 

details 
jes  du 

modifier 
]er  une 

filmage 


i6es 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Library  of  Congress 
Photoduplication  Service 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — »-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Library  of  Congress 
Photoduplication  Service 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  film^s  en  commengant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commandant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comportn  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  teile 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


ire 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuve"t  dtre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  h  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
iiiustrent  la  mSthode. 


by  errata 
led  to 

ant 

jne  pelure, 

agon  d 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1  2  3 

4  5  6 


<%y«'" 


***Ivi<mder  ify<m  make  the  capital  M in  this  way?"*— [See  page  174.] 


74.] 


Bflovel 


^^^^mHtOi.n 


WILLIAM  JLaIJ^-''^''^**^^ 

ADTHOB  Of 

"  rano*  romniATini "  "  a  OAnoHm  or  bkth  "  "  maoliod  or  dam  " 
"a  rtnoiM  or  tbuu"  "n  rAi  uoauwu"  na 


ILLUSTRATID 


NEW   YORK 
HARPER     *     BROTHERS,    FRANKLIN     SQUARE 


\h^f 


St 


WILLIAM  BLACK'S  NOVELS. 


LIBRARY 
A  OAOOHTCR  OF  Bim 
A  PBIN0E8S  or  THULE. 
DONALD  BOSS  OF  HBIMRA. 
ORUN  PA8TDRSS  AND  PICCA- 

OILLY. 
IN  FAR  LOCBABER 
IN  SILK  AITIRE. 
JODITH  SHAKESPEARE.     Ilia*. 

tntad  by  Abbit. 
KILMBNY. 

UACLKOD  OF  DARE.    lUuatntwL 
MADCAP  VIOLET. 
PRINCE  FORTCNATUa  Ill'd. 
8ABINA  ZEMBRA. 
8BAND0N  BELLA    Illaitnitad.      I 
ISmo,  Clotb,  $1 


EDITION. 

STAND  FAST,  ORAIO-ROTSIONt 

IlloitrMad. 
8CNRI8B. 

THAT  BEADTIFTL  WBETOT.    H- 
lutimUd. 

THE  MAGIC  INK,  AND  OTHER 

STORIEa    lUoBtnlwL 
THE  STRANGE  ADTENTURBS  OF 

AHODSE-BOAT.    lUutnM. 
THE  STBAKGE  AOTENTDBES  OF 

A  PHAETON. 
THREE  FEATHERa 
WHITE  HEATHER 
WHITE  WINOa    IllaMnU«d 
YOL'.NOE.    IllustntwL 
35  p«r  <  jIamA 


WOLFENBERQ.    lUaBtraMd.    lamo,  Cloth,  H  (A 

Oomptoto  SAta,  94  Toli.,  tlT  W. 

PuBLUHW)  BT  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  Niw  Tott. 


nUNBFmi 

«i  O,  PUBLIC  LIBaABf 
SaPT.  lO.  1040 


CONTENTS. 


L  Tmt  WAHsun* I 

II.  KnORBOBS '       |. 

in.  Air  ArpiOAOB *      j^ 

IV.  Staixed  Ox  An  a  Dihhm  or  Hubs bS 

v.  Qu'  Mom  Ooub  in  Mabuoc ]      ^ 3 

VL  Faibtlahd gg 

VIL  Oluu  FoMTAm .107 

VllL  An  Alauc .'    !  .  188 

IX.  DOVBTS  AMD  DkBAMB .141 

X  Bt  NonSBBll   SlAB ^      *      iQA 

XL  "Holt  PALwa'a  Kiss" ....!..  IM 

XIL  IxTSBrosmos *  ,«» 

Xin.  Tm  Onawimo  Fox '.'.'.  i09 

XIV.  Put  to  tbx  Proof !    !  as« 

XV.  BiNiwixo  IB  of  Lotb *  848 

XVI,  Oh  TBI  Bbimk --a 

XVII.  «»Ahd  Hast  Thou  Platbd  n  ThoT'    ,    .  jfa 

XVni.  "IbVaw-ihVaw" .'.'.'!!  888 

XIX.  BrroxD  Sxab .'804 

XX.  W«8f  AKD  East 881 

XXI.  Ebliobuhiibit .'        '  888 

XXn.  Mabbuob  not  "X  LA  Vow" !    !    .    !    !  868 

XXm.  A  SfUT  AT  Last ....!!  8»1 

XXIV.  Niw  Wats  or  Lm •    .    !    !  888 

XXV.  In  A  Noktbbbn  Viuaob !    !    !  408 

XXVI.  ABabbu  0'  ORim  Fiiuw:  rai  Ebb   ...]!.    |    [  41^ 


■-'■  V'  ■'■   I  *. 


•'■  » 


k.  '^• 


V    £■■. 


"■■(. 


■^^^jMPWJrtF.*!"*"  I^'» 


W?-!*«-fe**» 


-r. '  ■ 


STAND  FAST,  CRAIG  \OYSTON  ! 


CHAPTER  I. 


TBI    WAHDIBBRt. 


Off  a  certain  sannj  afternoon  in  May,  when  all  the  world  and 
his  wife  wore  walking  or  driving  in  Piccadilly,  two  figures  ap- 
peared there  who  clearly  did  not  belong  to  1  'le  fashionable  crowd. 
Indeed,  so  nnosual  was  their  wpect  that  many  a  swift  glance, 
shot  from  carefully  impassire  faces,  made  fnrtive  scrutiny  of 
them  as  they  passed.  One  of  the  strangers  was  an  old  roan  who 
might  have  been  a  ▼•nerablo  Scandinavian  scald  come  to  life 
again — a  man  thick-sot  and  broad-shonldered,  with  featnres  at 
once  aquiline  and  massive,  and  with  flowing  hair  and  beard  al- 
most silver-white.  From  under  his  deeply-lined  forehead  and 
shaggy  eyebrows  gleamed  a  pair  of  eyes  that  were  alort  and  con- 
fident as  with  the  audacity  of  youth ;  and  the  heavy  white  mous^ 
taohe  and  beard  did  not  quite  conceal  the  cheerful  firmness  of 
the  mouth.  For  the  rest,  ho  wore  above  his  ordinary  attir«  a 
plaid  of  shepherd's  tartan,  the  ends  thrown  over  his  shoulders. 

By  his  side  there  walked  a  young  girl  of  about  seventeen, 
whose  singular,  if  somewhat  pensive  and  delicate,  beauty  could 
not  but  have  struck  any  passer-by  who  happened  to  oateh  sight 
of  her.  But  she  rarely  raised  her  eyes  from  the  paT«meni 
What  was  obvious  to  every  one  wms,  first  of  all,  the  elegance  of 
her  walk — which  was  merely  the  natural  expression  of  a  perfectly 
moulded  form ;  and  then  tJie  glory  of  her  hair,  which  hang  I'ree 
and  unrestrained  down  her  back,  and  no  doubt  added  to  the 
1        A 


'^*. 


2  STAND   FAST,  CRAia-ROTBTOH  I 

yonthfuiness  of  her  look.  As  to  tbo  color  of  those  splendid 
masses — well,  it  was  neither  flaxen,  nor  golden,  nor  brown,  nor 
golden-brown,  but  apparently  a  mixture  of  all  these  shades,  alter- 
ing in  tone  here  and  there  accordiug  to  sunshine  or  ehadow,  but 
always  showing  a  soft  and  graduated  sheen  rather  than  any  def- 
inite lustre.  Her  face,  as  has  been  said,  was  mostly  downcast ; 
and  one  could  only  see  that  the  refined  and  sensitive  features 
were  pale ;  also  that  there  was  a  touch  of  sun-tan  over  her  com- 
plexion that  spoke  of  travel.  But  when,  by  inadvertence,  or  by 
some  forced  overcoming  of  her  native  diffidence,  she  did  raise 
her  eyes,  then  there  flashed  a  revelation  upon  the  world,  for  these 
blue-gray  deeps  seemed  to  hold  light,  a  mild-shining  light,  timid, 
mysterious,  appealing  almost ;  the  unconsciousness  of  childhood 
no  longer  there,  the  self-possession  of  womanhood  not  yet  come ; 
then  those  beautiful,  limpid,  pathetic  eyes,  thus  tremblingly  glanc- 
ing out  for  a  second,  would  be  instantly  withdrawn,  and  again 
the  dark  lashes  would  veil  the  mystic  deep-shining  wells.  This 
was  Maisne  Bethune ;  the  old  man  beside  her  was  her  grand- 
father.        '   v'iTf  ,#■■''   I  :-'■"     ,,    j  ■'  ;r''''-  V  ■  ■,  ;  >  sVV;;iiS>;' rh^ii?,  v'    ,■ 

The  young  girl  s6emed  rather  to  linger  behind  as  b^^r  com- 
panion ,.^eut  up  the  steps  towards  a  certain  door  and  rang  the 
bell ;  and  her  eyes  were  still  downcast  as  she  followed  him  across 
the  hall  and  into  an  anteroom.  When  the  footman  came  back 
with  the  message  that  his  lordship  was  disengaged  and  would  see 
Mr.  Bethune,  and  when  he  was  about  to  show  the  way  up-stairs, 
the  girl  hung  back,  and  said,  with  almost  a  piteous  look : 

"  I  will  stay  here,  grandfather." 

"  Not  at  all,"  the  old  man  answered,  impatiently.  "  Not  at 
all.    Come  along  1" 

There  were  two  persons  in  this  long  and  lofty  room  on  the 
first  floor ;  but  just  as  the  visitors  arrived  at  the'  landing  one  of 
these  withdrew  and  went  and  stood  at  a  front  wimdow,  where  he 
could  look  down  into  the  street.  Xbe  other — a  youngish-look- 
ing man,  with  clear  eyes  and  a  pleat^nt  smile — remained  to  re- 
ceive his  guests ;  and  if  he  could  not  help  a  little  glance  of  sur- 
prise, perhaps  a^  the  unusual  costoipe  of  his  chief  visitor,  or  per- 
haps because  he  had  not  expected  the  young  lady,  there  was,  at 
all  events,  nothing  but  good-nature  in  his  face. 

"  My  granddaughter,  Maisrie,  Lord  Musselborgb,"  the  old  maa 
said,  by  way  of  intoodaction  or  exphuuttioo. 


:;«;*/..-:■■ 


'  iWj^N^'BllfMJBti^.ilBilOyi 


mm 


hose  splendid 
or  brown,  nor 
3  shades,  alter- 
>r  shadow,  but 
than  any  def- 
itly  downcast ; 
sitive  features 
over  her  com- 
ertence,  or  by 
she  did  raise 
orld,  for  these 
g  light,  timid, 
}  of  childhood 
not  yet  come ; 
iblingly  glanc- 
nrn,  and  again 
r  wells.  This 
as  her  grand- 

1  as  h^t  com- 
and  rang  the 
cd  him  across 
an  came  back 
md  would  see 
ivay  up-stairs, 
look: 

ly.     "  Not  at 

room  on  the 
inding  one  of 
ow,  where  he 
oungish-look- 
nained  to  re- 
i;lance  of  sor- 
isitor,  or  per- 
there  was,  at 

'  the  old  nutn 


SB 


STAND   rABT,  ORAIO-ROTSTOir-1 

i  The  young  nobleman  begged  her  to  be  seated;  she  merely 
thanked  him,  and  moved  away  a  little  distance,  to  a  table  on 
whicii  were  some  illustrated  books,  so  that  the  two  men  were 
left  free  to  talk  as  they  chose. 

"  Well,  now,  that  seems  a  very  admirable  project  of  yours,  Mr. 
Bethune,"  Lord  Musselburgh  said,  in  his  frank  and  off-hand  way. 
"  There's  plenty  of  Scotch  blood  in  my  own  veins,  as  you  know; 
and  I  am  glad  of  any  good  turn  that  can  be  done  to  poor  old 
Scotland.     I  see  you  are  not  ashamed  of  the  national  garb." 

"  You  remember  what  was  said  on  a  famous  occasion,"  the  old 
man  made  answer,  speaking  methodically  and  emphatically,  and 
with  a  strong  Northern  accent,  "  and  I  will  own  that  I  hoped  your 
lordship's  heart  would '  warm  to  the  tartan.'  For  it  is  a  consid- 
erable undertaking,  after  all.  The  men  are  scattered,  and  their 
verses  are  scattered ;  but  scattered  or  no  scattered,  there  is 
everywhere  and  always  in  them  the  same  sentimen^-the  senti- 
ment of  loyalty  and  gratitude  and  admiration  for  the  land  of  the 
hUls  and  the  glens.  And  s^ely,  as  your  lordship  says,  it  is 
doing  a  good  turn  to  poor  old  Scotland  to  show  the  world  that 
wherever  her  sons  may  be— in  Canada,  in  Florida,  out  on  the 
plams,  or  along  the  California  coas^-they  do  not  forget  the 
mother  that  bore  them— no,  but  that  they  are  proud  of  her,  and 
think  always  of  her,  and  regard  her  with  undying  affection  and 
devotion." 

He  was  warming  U>  his  work.  There  was  a  vibration  in  his 
voice  as  he  proceeded  to  repeat  the  Tines 

"From  the  lone  BhieliDg  on  the  misty  island, 
Mountains  divide  them,  and  a  world  of  seas; 
But  still  their  hearts  are  true,  their  hearts  are' Highland 
And  they  in  dreams  'jehold  the  Hebrides."  ' 

"  Is  that  by  one  of  your  Scotch-American  friends  f"  Lord  Mus- 
selburgh asked,  with  a  smile,  for  he  was  looking  curiously,  and 
not  without  a  certain  sympathetic  interest,  at  this  old  man. 

"  I  do  not  know,  your  lordship;  at  the  moment  I  could  not 
teU  yon,  was  the  answer.  "But  this  I  do  know :  that  a  man 
may  be  none  the  less  a  good  Canadian  or  American  citizen  be- 
cause of  his  love  for  the  heather  hills  that  nourished  his  itaancy 
and  inspired  his  earliest  imaginaUon.  He  does  not  complain  of 
the  country  that  has  given  him  shelter,  oor  of  the  people  who 


ipijUiiiiyi 


1^ 


':■#,. . 


4  BTAMD    FAST,  ORAIQ-ROTBTON  I 

have  welcomed  him  and  made  htm  one  of  themselves, 
says,  with  Crichton's  emigrant  shepherd — 

"'Woe's  me  that  Fate  us  twa  hae  twined' 


He  only 


— •  twined '  is  severed : 
with  the  dialect — 


perhaps  your  lordship  is  not  so  familiar 


"'Wac'a  me  that  Fate  us  tnra  hae  twined; 
And  I  senro  strangers  ower  the  sea; 
Their  hearts  are  leal,  their  words  are  kind, 
But,  lass,  it  isna  hamo  to  me  1' 

Good  men  they  arc  and  true,"  ho  went  on,  in  the  same  exalted 
strain  ;  "  valued  and  respected  citizens — none  more  so ;  but  cut 
their  hi  irts  open,  and  you  will  find  Scotland  written  in  every 
fibre.  Iv  is  through  no  ingratitude  to  their  adopted  country 
that  a  spray  of  white  heather,  a  few  bluebells,  a  gowan  or  two — 
anything  sent  across  the  seas  to  them  to  remind  them  of  the 
land  of  their  birth — will  bring  hot  tears  to  their  eyes.  As  one 
of  them  has  written — 

'"What  memories  dear  of  that  cot  ye  recall, 
Tliough  now  there  remains  neither  roof-tree  nor  wall ! 
Alack-a-dayl  lintel  and  threshold  arc  gone. 
While  cold  'neath  the  weeds  lies  the  hallowed  hearthstone ! 
'Twas  a  straw-roofed  cottage,  but  lore  abode  there, 
And  peace  and  contentment  aye  breathed  in  its  air; 
With  songs  from  the  mother  and  legends  from  sire, 
How  blithe  were  we  all  round  the  cheery  peat-fire  t 
Caledonia's  blue-bells !    0  bonnic  blue-bells !' " 

"  You  have  an  excellent  memory,"  Lord  Musselburgh  said, 
good-naturedly.  "  Those  patriotic  effusions  seem  to  have  im- 
pressed you." 

"  That  was  written  by  the  Bard  of  Amulree,  your  lordship," 
continued  the  garrulous  old  man  ;  "  and  a  truer  Scotchman  docs 
not  breathe,  though  America  has  been  his  homo  nearly  all  his 
life.  And  there  is  many  another,  both  in  Canada  and  the  United 
States.  They  may  bo  in  happier  circumstances  than  they  would 
have  been  in  the  old  country,  they  may  have  plenty  of  friends 
around  them,  but  still  their  hearts  turn  back  to 

" '  Where  I've  watched  the  gloamin'  close 
The  long,  bright  summer  days, 
And  doubted  not  that  fairies  dwelt 
On  Cathkin's  bonnie  braes; 


V<»;*i9«fWM|N|tif|p 


B.     He  only 


t  so  familiar 


ARio  exalted 
so ;  but  cut 
ten  in  every 
ited  country 
an  or  two^ 
them  of  the 
C8.     As  one 


stone  I 


burgh  said, 
,o  have  im- 

lordship," 

iman  does 

arly  all  his 

the  United 

they  would 

of  friends 


Kf 


t\m'mmmi>uiim\lff    - 


I; 


ft- 


:  r 


» 


u 


;i! 


ATAMD     AST,  OIUIO-BOTSTONt  f 

Auld  Ruglin  Bri{;  and  Ctlhkin  bnes, 

And  Clydo'a  mea'-  "sring  stream — 
Ye  shall  be  8.ibjec»  of  my  lays 

As  ye  are  rl  -ij  dreams!' 

Nor  are  they  ashamed  of  their  Scottish  way  of  speech — ^ye  may 
observe,  my  lord,  that  I've  kept  a  twang  of  it  myself,  even  among 
all  my  wanderings ;  and  loath  would  I  bo  to  lose  it  But  I'm 
wearying  your  lordship,"  the  old  man  said,  in  a  suddenly  altered 
tone.  "  I  would  just  say  that  a  collection  of  what  the  Scotch 
poets  in  America  have  written  ought  to  be  interesting  to  Scotch- 
men everywhere,  and  perhaps  to  others  as  well,  for  patriotism  is 
a  virtue  that  commands  respect  I  bc{;  your  pardon  for  en- 
croaching on  your  lordship's  time — " 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing,"  Lord  Musselburgh  said,  easily ;  "  bat  we 
must  not  keep  the  young  lady  waiting."  He  glanceid  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  girl  who  was  standing  by  the  table.  She  was  tam- 
ing over  the  leaves  of  a  book.  Then  bo  resumed  the  conversa- 
tion, but  in  a  much  lower  key. 

"  I  quite  understand,  Mr.  Bethnne,"  he  said,  so  that  she  should 
not  overhear,  "  what  you  wrote  to  me — that  the  bringing  oat  of 
such  a  volume  will  reonire  time  and  expense.  And — and  yon  must 
allow  me  to  join  in — in  the  only  way  I  can.     Now  what  som — " 

He  hesitated.     Mr.  Bethune  said : 

"  Whatever  your  lordship  pleases." 

The  young  man  went  into  the  front  portion  of  the  long  apart- 
ment (where  bis  friend  was  still  discreetly  standing  behind  the 
window-curtains)  and  opened  a  despatch-box  and  sat  down.  He 
drew  out  a  check  for  £50,  enclosed  it  in  an  envelope,  and,  com- 
ing back,  slipped  it  into  the  old  man's  hands. 

"  I  hope  that  jwill  help,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  bear  of  the  prog- 
ress of  the  work." 

"  I  thank  your  lordship,"  Bethnne  said,  without  any  obse- 
quiousness or  profusion  of  gratitude. 

And  then  he  turned  to  his  granddaughter. 

"Maisrie!"  "  ' 

The  girl  came  away  at  once.  She  bowed  to  Lord  Musselburgh 
in  passing,  without  lifting  her  eyes.  He,  however,  put  out  his 
hand,  and  said  "  Oood-bye."  Nay,  more  than  that,  although  he 
had  previously  rung  the  bell,  he  accompanied  them  both  down- 
stairs, and  stood  at  the  door  while  a  four-wheeled  cab  was  being 


HfT 


-M«M«MWMH 


*«■*«* 


MPWKWNWM" 


STAND   FAST,  CRAIO-ROTBTOIf  I 


! 


;    I 


[ 


! 


called  for  them.  Then,  when  they  had  left,  ho  returned  to  the 
room  above,  and  called  lightly  to  bis  friend,  who  was  still  btand- 
ing  at  the  window : 

"  Ready,  Vin  J  Come  along,  then  I  Did  you  hear  the  old 
man  and  his  poetry  ? — a  harmless  old  maniac,  I  think.  Well, 
let's  be  off  to  Victoria ;  we'll  get  down  to  the  Bungalow  in  time 
for  a  good  hour's  lawn-tennis  before  dinner." 

Meanwhile  old  George  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter  were 
being  driven  aw&y  eastward  in  the  cab,  and  he  was  chatting  gayly 
to  her,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  been  successful  in  some  en- 
terprise. He  had  doffed  his  Scotch  plaid,  and,  what  is  more,  ho 
had  also  abandoned  the  Scotch  accent  in  which  he  had  addressed 
"  his  lordship."  It  was  to  be  a  great  book,  this  collection  of 
Scotch-American  poetry.  It  would  enable  him  to  pay  a  well- 
dcservcd  compliment  to  many  an  old  friend  of  his  in  Toronto, 
in  Montreal,  in  New  York.  He  was  warm  in  his  praises  of  this 
young  Lord  Musselburgh,  and  predicted  a  great  future  for  him. 
Then  ho  put  his  head  out  of  the  window  and  bade  the  driver 
stop,  opposite  the  door  of  a  wine-merchant's  oiBce. 

"Grandfather,"  said  the  girl,  "may  I  wmt  for  you  in  the 
cabr 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  answered,  with  decision.  "  I  wish  you  to 
see  men  and  things  as  part  of  your  education.  Live  and  learn, 
Maisrie — every  moment  of  your  life." 

Leaving  the  Scotch  plaid  in  the  cab,  he  crossed  the  pavement 
and  went  into  the  office,  she  meekly  following.  The  wine-mer- 
chant was  sent  for,  and  presently  he  made  his  appearance. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Glover,"  old  George  Bethune  said,  with 
something  of  an  air  of  q>.iet  patronage,  "  I  wish  to  order  some 
claret  from  you."  > 

The  tall,  bald,  bland-looking  person  whom  he  addressed  did 
not  seem  to  receive  this  news  with  any  joy ;  but  the  young  lady 
was  there, and  he  was  bound  to  be  courteous;  so  he  asked  Mr. 
Bethune  to  be  kind  enough  to  stop  into  the  back  premises,  where 
he  could  put  some  samples  before  him.  Maisrie  was  for  remain- 
ing where  she  stood,  but  her  grandfather  bade  her  come  along ; 
so  she  also  went  with  them  into  the  back  portion  of  the  estab- 
lishment, where  she  was  accommodated  with  a  chair.  At  this 
table  there  were  no  illustrated  books  to  which  she  could  turn ; 
there  were  only  bottles,  glasses,  corkscrews,  and  a  plateful  of 


!| 


dL 


MIPM* 


urned  to  the 
kS  still  btand- 

bear  tho  old 
(link.  Well, 
;alow  in  time 

lughter  wero 
lattinggayly 
in  some  en- 
t  is  more,  ho 
ad  addressed 
collection  of 
pay  a  well- 
in  Toronto, 
■aises  of  this 
uro  for  him. 
le  the  driver 

yoD  in  the 

wish  you  to 
e  and  learn, 

le  pavement 
10  wine-mer- 
rance. 

le  said,  with 
order  some 

dressed  did 

young  lady 
asked  Mr. 
nises,  where 

for  rcmain- 
ome  along ; 

'  the  estab- 
ir.  At  this 
could  turn ; 

pUteful  of 


!1**WWWW*** 


STAND   FAST,  OBAIO-ROTITORI  7 

wine-biscuits ;  so  that  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor — and 
was  forced  to  listen. 

"  Claret,  Mr.  Glover,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  certain  senten- 
tiousness  and  assumption  of  importance  that  he  had  not  dis- 
played in  speaking  to  Lord  Musselburgh — "  claret  was  in  former 
days  the  national  drink  of  Scotland— owing  to  the  close  alliance 
with  France,  as  you  know — and  the  old  Scotch  families  naturally 
preserve  the  tradition.  So  that  you  can  hardly  wonder  if  to  one 
of  the  name  of  Bethune  a  sound  claret  is  scarcely  so  much  a 
luxury  as  a  necessity.  Why,  sir,  my  ancestor,  Miximilien  de 
Bethune,  Duo  de  Sully,  had  the  finest  vineyards  in  thd  whole  of 
France ;  and  it  was  his  privilege  to  furnish  the  royal  table — " 

"  I  hope  he  got  paid,"  the  bland  wine-merchant  said,  with  a 
bit  of  a  laugh ;  but  happening  to  glance  towards  the  young  girl 
sitting  there,  and  perceiving  that  the  pale  and  beautiful  face  had 
suddenly  grown  surcharged  with  color,  he  instantly,  and  with  the 
greatest  embarrassment,  proceeded  to  stumble  on — 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  he  said,  hastily ;  "  a  great  honor — nata- 
rally — ^the  royal  table — a  great  honor,  indeed — I  quite  understand 
— the  Due  do  Sully,  did  you  say  J — Oh,  yes — a  great  statesman — ^" 

"  The  greatest  financier  France  has  ever  possessed,"  the  old 
man  said,  grandly.  "  Though  he  was  by  profession  a  soldier, 
when  he  came  to  tackle  the  finances  of  the  country,  he  paid  off  two 
hundred  millions  of  livres — the  whole  of  the  king's  debts,  in  fact 
-^«nd  filled  the  royal  treasury.  It  is  something  to  bear  his  name, 
surely.  I  confess  I  am  proud  of  it ;  but  our  family  goes  far  fur- 
ther back  than  tho  Due  de  Sully  and  tho  sixteenth  century. 
Why,  sir,"  he  continued,  in  his  stately  manner,  "  when  the  royal 
Stewarts  were  known  only  by  their  office — Dapifer  or  Smetehal' 
Itu,  they  were  called — the  Beatons  and  Bethunes  could  boast  of 
their  territorial  designation.  In  1434,  when  Magister  John  Sen- 
eschallus.  Provost  of  Methven,  was  appointed  one  of  the  Lords 
Auditors,  it  was  Alexander  de  Beaton  who  administered  the  oath 
to  him — the  same  Alexander  de  Beaton  who,  some  two  years 
thereafter,  accompanied  Margaret  of  Scotland  to  France,  on  her 
marriage  with  the  Dauphin.  Yes,  sir,  I  confess  I  am  proud  to 
bear  the  name ;  and  perhaps  it  is  the  'more  excusable  that  it 
is  about  the  last  of  our  possessions  they  have  left  us.  Bal- 
loray— " 

He  paused  for  a  seoond,  and  thero  was  •  break  in  his  voice : 


I 


'x^ 


8  STANO   rAST,  CRAIO-BOYBTON  I 

"  Do  you  800  that  child  f '  ho  said,  pointing  with  a  tremhling 
forefinger  to  his  grr.nddaughtcr.  "  If  there  were  r  .<  right  or 
justice,  there  sits  tho  heiress  of  Balloray." 

"  It  was  a  famous  lawsuit  in  its  time,"  tho  wine-merchant  ob> 
served,  but  not  looking  in  Maisrie*s  direction. 

"  It  killed  my  father,  and  made  me  a  wanderer  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,"  the  old  man  said ;  and  then  he  raised  his  head 
bravely. 

"  Well,  no  matter ;  they  cannot  rob  me  of  my  name ;  and  I  am 
Bethune  of  Balloray — whoever  has  the  wjde  lands." 

Now  perhaps  there  still  dwelt  in  the  brobst  of  the  anave-look- 
ing  wine-merchant  some  remorse  of  conscience  over  the  remark 
that  had  caused  this  pale  and  sensitive-looking  young  creature 
to  flush  with  conscious  shame.  At  all  events,  he  had  quite  aban- 
doned the  somewhat  grudging  coldness  with  which  he  had  first 
received  his  customer ;  and  when  various  samples  of  claret  had 
been  brought  from  tho  cellar  and  placed  on  the  table,  it  was  the 
most  expensive  that  he  frankly  and  fully  recommended.  Nay, 
he  was  almost  pressing.  And  again  he  called  to  his  assistant, 
and  bade  him  fetch  a  particular  bottle  of  champagne ;  and  when 
chat  was  opened,  he  himself  poured  out  a  glass  and  offered  it  to 
the  young  lady,  with  a  biscuit  or  two,  and  seemed  concerned  and 
distressed  when  she  thanked  him  and  declined.  The  end  of  this 
interview  was  that  old  Qeorge  Bethune  ordered  a  considerable 
quantity  of  claret,  and  carried  away  with  him,  for  immediate  use, 
a  case  of  twelve  bottles,  which  was  put  into  the  four-wheeled 
cab. 

Park  Street,  Mayfair,  occupies  a  prominent  position  in  the 
fashionable  quarter  of  London ;  but  from  it,  at  intervab,  mn  one 
or  two  smaller  thoroughfares — sometimes  ending  in  stables — the 
dwellings  in  which  are  of  a  quite  modost  and  unpretentious  ap- 
pearance. It  was  to  one  of  these  smaller  thoroughfares  that 
George  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter  now  drove  ;  and  when 
they  had  entered  the  quiet  little  house  and  ascended  to  the  first 
floor,  they  found  that  dinner  was  laid  on  the  table,  for  the  evening 
was  now  well  advanced.  When  they  were  ready,  the  frugal  banquet 
was  also  ready ;  and  the  old  man,  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
with  Maisrie  on  his  right,  soon  grew  eloquent  about  the  virtues 
of  the  bottle  of  claret  which  he  had  just  opened.  The  girl,  who 
did  not  take  any  wine,  seemed  hardly  to  beer.    She  wag  more 


■^ 


a  trembling 
.;  righl  or 

erchant  ob- 

on  the  face 
)d  hia  head 

);  and  I  am 

snave-look- 
the  remark 
ng  creature 
quite  aban- 
be  had  first 
f  claret  had 
),  it  was  the 
ded.  Nay, 
is  assistant, 
;  and  when 
>ffered  it  to 
cemed  and 
end  of  this 
onsiderable 
lediate  use, 
ir- wheeled 

ion  in  the 
Us,  mn  one 
Abies — the 
entions  ap- 
ifares  that 

and  vhen 
to  the  first 
he  evening 
;al  banquet 

the  table, 

he  virtues 
girl,  who 

was  more 


STAHD   FAST    ORAIO-ROTBTON  I  9 

thoughtful  even  than  usual — perhaps,  indeed,  there  was  a  trace 
of  saduess  in  the  delicate,  pousivo  features.  When  the  fresh- 
colored  servant-lass  brought  iii  the  things,  and  happened  to  re- 
main in  the  room  for  a  second  or  two,  Maisrie  made  some  pre- 
tence of  answering  her  grandfather ;  then,  when  they  were  left 
alone  again,  she  relapsed  into  silence,  and  lot  him  ramble  on  as  he 
pleased.  And  ho  was  in  a  satisfied  and  garrulous  mood.  The 
evening  was  fine  and  warm — the  open  window  behind  them  they 
had  left  open.  He  approved  of  t^  lodging-house  cookery  ;  he 
emphatically  praised  the  claret,  wiiii  the  conviction  of  one  who 
knew.  Dinner,  in  fact,  was  half-way  over  before  the  girl,  look- 
ing up  with  her  beautiful,  clear,  limpid  eyes — beautiful,  although 
they  were  so  strangely  wistful — ventured  to  say  anything. 

"  Grandfather,"  she  asked,  with  obvious  hesitation,  "  did- — 
did  Lord  Musselburgh — give  yon — something  towards  the  pub- 
lication of  that  book !" 

"  Why,  yes,  yes,  yes,  certainly,"  the  old  man  said,  with  much 
cheerfulness.  "Certainly.  Something  substantial,  too.  Why 
notr 

The  hot  blood  was  in  her  face  again,  and  her  eyes  downcast. 

"  Grandfather,"  she  said,  in  the  same  low  voice,  "  when  will 
,,on  set  about  writing  the  book!" 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  rf-do  answer  evasively,  but  with  perfect  good- 
humor,  "  it  is  a  matter  to  be  thought  over.  Indeed,  I  heard  in 
New  York  of  a  similar  volame  being  got  together ;  but  I  may  be 
first  in  the  field  after  aU.  There  is  no  immediatA  hurry.  A 
thing  of  that  kind  must  be  thought  over  and  consicored.  And, 
indeed,  my  dear,  I  cannot  go  back  to  America  at  present ;  for 
my  first  and  foremost  intention  is  that  you  should  begin  to  learn 
something  of  your  native  country.  You  must  become  familiar 
with  the  hills  and  the  moorlands,  with  the  roaring  monniai a-tor- 
rents,  uid  the  lonely  islands  amid  the  gray  seas.  For  of  what  ac- 
count is  the  accident  of  your  birth  ?  Omaha  cannot  claim  yon. 
There  is  Scotch  blood  in  your  veins,  Maisrie — ^the  oldest  in  the 
land ;  and  yon  must  see  Dunfermline  town,  where  the  king  sat 
'  drinking  the  blood-red  wine ;'  and  you  must  see  Stirling  Castle, 
and  Edinburgh,  and  Holyrood,  and  Melrose  Abbey.  Nebraska 
has  no  claim  over  you — you,  a  Bethune  of  Balloray,  And  yon 
have  some  Highland  blood  in  your  veins,  too,  my  dear ;  for  if 
the  Grants  who  intermarried  with  the  Bethunes  were  not  of  the 

A* 


10 


■TAND    FAIT,  ORAIO-ROrtTON  I 


Northern  Grants,  whose  prond  motto  in, '  Stand  fast,  Craigollnchie  ? 
nonu  the  loss  is  Craig-Royston  wild  and  Highland  enough,  as  I 
hope  to  show  you  some  day.  And  Lowland  or  llighlanrV  Mais- 
rio,  you  must  wear  the  snood  when  you  go  north ;  a  young  Scotch 
lass  should  wear  tho  snood.  Yes,  yes,  the  bit  of  blue  ribbon  will 
look  well  in  your  hair.  Melrose,"  he  rambled  on,  as  he  filled  hin 
glass  again,  "  and  Maxwellton  Braes,  Yarrow's  Banks,  and  fair 
Kirkconnel  Lea,  a  storied  country,  romance,  pathos,  tragic  and 
deathless  music  conjured  up  at  every  footstep.  Instead  of  tho 
St  Lawrence,  you  shall  have  tho  murmur  of  the  Tweed ;  inst(  id 
of  Brooklyn,  tho  song-haunted  shores  of  Colonssy  I  But  there 
is  one  place  that  with  my  will  you  shall  never  visit,  no,  not  while 
there  are  strangers  and  aliens  there.  You  may  wander  all  over 
Scotland,  north,  south,  east,  and  west,  but  never,  never  while 
I  am  alive,  must  you  ask  to  see  '  tho  bonnio  mill  -  dams  o'  Bal- 
loray.' " 

She  knew  what  he  meant ;  she  did  not  speak.  But  presently — 
perhaps  to  draw  away  his  thoughts  from  that  terrible  lawsuit  which 
had  had  such  disastrous  consequences  for  him  and  his-Hiho  said, 

"  I  hope,  grandfather,  you  won't  think  of  remaining  in  this 
country  on  my  account.  Perhaps  it  is  better  to  read  about  those 
beautiful  places,  and  to  dream  about  them,  than  to  see  them. 
Yoa  romeiAber  '  Yarrow  Unvisited.'  And  indeed,  grandfather, 
if  yoa  are  collecting  materials  for  that  book,  why  should  we  not 
go  back  at  once  t  It  would  be  dreadful  if — if — tho  other  volume 
were  to  come  out  first,  and  you  indebted  to  Lord  Musselburgh, 
or  any  one  else ;  but  if  yours  were  written  and  published — if 
yoa  could  show  them  you  had  done  what  yoa  undertook  to  do, 
then  it  would  be  all  perfectly  right.  For  yoa  know,  grand- 
father," she  continued,  in  a  gently  petvaasire  and  winning  roice, 
"  no  ono  could  do  it  as  well  as  you.  Who  else  has  such  a  knowl- 
edge of  Scotland  and  Scottish  literature,  or  such  a  sympathy 
with  Scottish  music  and  poetry  t  And  then  yoar  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  many  of  those  writers — who  nsed  to  welcome 
you  as  ono  of  themselves — who  else  could  have  that  t  Yoa  ooald 
do  it  better  than  any  one,  grandfather ;  and  yoa  have  always 
said  yoa  would  like  to  do  something  for  the  sake  of  Scothtnd, 
and  here  is  the  "ery  thing  ready  to  yonr  hand.  Some  other  time, 
j^andfather,"  she  pleaded,  with  those  beautiful  clear  eyes  tamed 
beseeohiogly  apon  him — '<  some  other  time  yoa  will  take  me  to 


HUtr 


•TAirO   FAST,   CHAIO-ROmON  I 


11 


raigollnchie  V 
enough. as  I 
ghlantV  Maia- 
^onug  Scotch 
le  ribbon  will 
s  he  filled  hin 
nka,  and  fair 
Hi,  tragic  and 
iBtoad  of  the 
ood;  inaUid 
t  But  there 
no,  not  while 
inder  all  over 
never  while 
dams  o'  Bal- 

t  presently — 
lawsuit  which 
bis — aho  said, 
lining  in  this 
i  about  those 
to  see  them, 
grandfather, 
hould  we  not 
other  volume 
Musselburgh, 
>nblished — if 
9rtook  to  do, 
mow,  grand- 
inning  Toice, 
uch  a  knowl. 
sympathy 
>ersonal  ac- 
to  welcome 
You  ooald 
lave  always 
of  Scotland, 
le  other  time, 
eyes  tamed 
take  me  to 


all  those  beautiful  places.  It  is  not  as  if  I  had  come  back  home. 
I  hnvo  linrdiy  over  had  a  homo  anywhere.  I  am  as  well  content 
in  Montreal  or  Toronto  as  anywhere  else.  And  then  you  could 
get  all  the  asbu  ':ince  you  might  need  over  there ;  you  could  go 
to  your  various  friends  in  the  newspaper  offices,  and  they  would 
give  you  information." 

•'  Yes,  yos.  Well,  well,"  ho  said  peevishly,  "  I  azn  not  a  liter- 
ary hack,  to  bo  driven,  Maisric.  I  tnust  have  my  own  time.  I 
made  no  promise.  There,  row,  get  me  my  pipe,  and  bring  your 
violin  and  pUy  some  of  those  Scotch  airs.  Yes,  yes,  you  can 
get  at  the  feeling  of  them  ;  and  that  comes  to  you  through  your 
blood,  Maisrie,  no  matter  where  you  happen  to  be  born." 

Twilight  had  fallen.  At  the  open  window,  with  a  long  clay 
pipe,  as  yet  unlit,  in  his  fingers,  old  George  Bethnne  sat- and 
stared  out  into  the  semi-darkness,  where  all  was  quiet  now, 
for  the  carriages  from  the  neighboring  mows  had  long  ago  been 
driven  away  to  dinner-parties  and  operas  and  theatres.  And  in 
silence,  in  the  dusky  part  of  the  room,  there  arose  a  low  sound, 
a  tender-breathing  sound  of  most  exquisite  pathos,  that  seemed 
to  say,  as  well  as  any  instrument  might  say, 

"  rm  wetrin'  twa',  Jean, 
Like  inaw-wreathi  in  thaw,  Jean, 
I'm  wearin'  awa' 
To  tli«  land  o'  the  leal ; 
. ,  ,  There's  dm  sorrow  there,  Jean, 

There's  neither  cauld  nor  care,  Jean, 
Tlie  day's  aye  fair 
In  tlie  land  o'  the  leal." 

Most  tenderly  she  played,  and  slowly ;  and  with  an  absolute 
simplicity  of  tone. 

"  There's  Scotch  bl  ,4  in  your  veins,  Maisrie — Scotch  blood," 
he  said,  approvingly,  as  the  low  vibrating  notes  ceased. 

And  then  again  in  the  darkness  another  plaintive  wail  arose-— 
it  was  "  The  Flowers  o'  the  Forest "  this  time— and  here  the  old 
man  joined  in,  singing  in  a  sort  of  undertone,  and  with  a  aaffi- 
ciently  sympathetic  voice : 

Tre  heard  the  liltin',  at  onr  yowe-milkin', 
Lasaei  a-Iiltln',  before  the  dawn  o'  day ; 
But  now  there's  a  moanin'  on  ilka  green  loanin' ; 
The  Flowerfl  o*  the  Forest  are  a'  wede  away. 

*  •  •     '      •  •  *  * 


■1 


It 


■TAiiD  rxar,  oiiAio>RoraToiri 


"  W«  liMr  nM  mair  liltin'  •!  oar  yowa-milkln', 
Women  Biiii  iMlrim  aro  dowlu  and  wae; 
BIrIiUi'  and  muanln',  on  Ilka  green  loanln' — 
Tliu  Fluwars  u'  the  Foreit  are  a'  wodo  awajr." 

"  YcH,  yen,"  Iio  Raid,  m  ho  roau  stui  camo  a  way  from  the  win- 
dow, '*it  is  thu  Hcotcli  liiuo<l  that  tinglcH,  it  in  Iho  Scotch  heart 
that  throbs.  '  Yestroen,  when  to  the  trembling  stringa,  tho 
dance  gaud  through  tho  lichtod  ha' — '  who  but  a  Scotchman 
could  have  written  thatt  Well,  now,  Maiirie,  we'll  havo  tho  gas ; 
and  you  can  got  out  the  spirits ;  and  we'll  try  some  of  the  lire- 
lier  airs.  Thcru'a  plenty  of  thorn,  too,  as  boflts  a  daring  and 
oncrgotic  people — a  nation  of  fighters.  They  wore  not  alwaya 
bewailing  their  lossea  in  tho  field."  And  therewith  the  old  man, 
pacing  up  and  down  Imforo  the  empty  fireplace,  began  to  sing, 
with  upright  head  and  gallant  voice — 


x 


'»':■: 


"  London's  bonnio  woodi  and  braes, 

I  maun  leave  them  a',  liisle ; 
Wlia  can  tholi*  when  Britain's  faea 

Would  gle  Oriton'i  law,  laiiief 
Wha  would  ihun  the  field  o'  danger? 
Wha  to  fame  would  live  a  stranger  1 
Now  when  freedom  bids  avenge  her, 

Wha  would  shun  her  c«',  lassie?" 

Maisric  Bothune  had  laid  aside  her  violin ;  but  she  did  not 
light  the  gas.  She  stood  there,  in  the  semi-darkness,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  tho  room,  timidly  regarding  her  grandfather,  and  yet  ap- 
parently afraid  to  speak.    At  last  she  managed  to  say, 

"  Grandfather,  yon  will  not  be  angry  f 

"  What's  this  ^ow  f  he  said,  wheeling  round  and  staring  at 
her,  for  tho  peculiarity  of  her  tone  had  caught  his  car. 

"  Grandfather,"  she  continued,  in  almost  piteous  embarrass- 
ment, "  I — I  wish  to  say  something  to  you — I  havo  been  think- 
ing about  it  for  a  long  while  back — and  yet  afraid  you  mightn't 
understand—  yoa  might  be  angry." 

•'Well,  well,  what  is  Itt"  he  said.  Impatiently.  '<What  are 
you  dissatisfied  with  I  I  don't  see  that  you've  much  to  complain 
of,  or  I  either.  We  don't  live  a  life  of  grandeur,  nor  is  there 
much  excitement  about  it,  but  it  is  fairly  comfortable.  I  con- 
sider we  are  very  well  off." 

-  We  are  too  well  off,  grandfather,"  she  said  sadly. 


•TAMD    VAtT,  OaAIO'ROraTOlll 


It 


'rotn  the  win- 
Scotch  heurt 

Btrin^,  the 
a  Hcotchman 
have  the  ga« ; 
e  of  the  lire- 
I  daring  and 
0  not  aJwaya 

the  old  man, 
cgan  to  sing, 


she  did  not 

I,  in  the  mid- 

and  yet  ap- 

»y. 

d  staring  at 
ar. 

cmbarrass- 
been  think- 
00  mightn't 

"What  are 
to  complain 
lor  is  there 
>le.     I  con- 


;  Be  started' at  this,  and  stared  at  her  again. 

"  What  do  you  moan  f 
(  **  Urandfathor,"  she  said,  in  the  Mmo  pathetic  voice,  "  don't 
you  Noo  that  I  am  no  longer  a  child  I  I  am  a  woman.  And  I 
iini  doing  nothing.  Why  did  you  give  mo  so  caruful  an  educa- 
tion if  I  nm  not  to  use  It  t  I  wish  to  oam  something — I — I  wish 
to  keep  you  and  mo,  grandfather." 

The  Rtiiinnicring  sentonces  coosod  ;  he  replied  slowly,  and  per* 
haps  a  trifle  coldly. 

"  Why  did  I  have  you  carefully  educated  f  Well,  I  should 
have  thought  you  might  have  gucused,  might  have  understood. 
nut  I  will  toll  you.  I  have  given  you  what  education  was  possi- 
ble in  our  circumstances  in  order  to  flt  you  for  the  station  wjiich 
some  day  you  may  bo  called  upon  to  fill.  And  if  not — if  it  is 
fated  that  injustice  and  iniquity  are  to  be  in  our  case  perpetual — 
at  all  events  you  must  be  worthy  of  the  name  you  bear.  Itut  it 
was  not  as  an  implement  of  trade,"  ho  continued,  more  warmly, 
'*  that.  I  gave  yuu  ouch  education  as  was  possible  in  our  wander- 
ing lives.  What  do  you  want  to  do  t  Tcoo**  mucic  t  And  you 
would  use  your  trained  hand  and  ear,  and  your  trained  soul, 
which  is  of  more  importance  still,  to  drum  mechanical  mdimenta 
into  the  brats  of  some  bourgeois  household  f  A  fit  employment 
for  a  Bethune  of  Balloray  I" 

She  seemed  l>ewildered  and  agonised. 

"  Grandfather,  I  must  speak  1  I  must  speak  I  Toa  may  be 
angry  or  not ;  but — but  I  am  no  longer  a  child ;  I  can  see  how 
we  are  situated  ;  and — and  if  it  is  pride  that  causes  me  to  speak, 
remember  who  it  is  that  has  taught  me  to  think  of  our  name. 
Grandfather,  let  us  begin  a  new  life  I  I  can  work — I  am  old 
enough  to  work — I  would  slave  my  fingers  to  the  bone  for  yoa. 
Grandfather,  why  should  you  accept  assistance  from  any  onet 
From  Lord  Musselburgh,  or  any  one  t  No,  I  do  not  blame  you ; 
I  have  always  thought  that  everything  yoa  did  was  right,  and 
kind,  and  good  ;  but  I  cannot  be  a  child  any  longer,  I  must  say 
what  I  think  and  feci.     Grandfather—" 

But  here  the  incoherent  appeal  broke  down ;  she  fell  on  her 
knees  before  him,  and  clasped  her  bands  over  her  face,  and  in 
the  dark  the  old  man,  stem  and  immovable,  could  hear  the 
sound  of  her  violent  sobbing. 

**  I  will  work — oh,  I  will  work  night  and  day,  grandfather,** 


■X- 


14 


BTAHD    VAST,  OUXlU-ROYSTONI 


she  continued,  wildly,  "  if  only  yoa  will  take  my  money,  and 
not  from  any  one  else  I  I  will  go  on  the  stage,  I  will  tarn  dress- 
maker ;  I  will  go  anywhere  or  do  anything,  and  work  h»rd  and 
hard,  if  only  you  till  consent !  There  would  not  be  so  much 
sacrifice,  grandfather — a  little,  not  much — and  don't  you  think 
we  should  be  all  the  happier?  I  have  spoken  at  last,  grand- 
father— you  will  forgive  me.  I  could  not  keep  silent  any  longer. 
It  has  been  weighing  on  my  heart,  and  now — now  you  are  going 
to  say  yes,  grandfather,  and  to-morrow  —  to-morrow  we  begin 
differently.  We  arc  so  much  alone ;  let  us  live  for  each  other, 
let  us  be  independent  of  every  one.  Now  you  are  going  to  say 
yes,  grandfather,  and  indeed.  Indeed,  I  will  work  for  both  of  as, 
oh,  so  gladly — " 

"  Have  you  finished!"  he  asked.  '"  v3iK*  ■ ' '  ?^^^  , 

She  rose,  and  would  have  seized  his  hand  to  enforce  her  ap- 
peal, but  be  withdrew  a  step,  and  motioned  her  to  be  seated. 

"  I  am  glad  of  this  opportunity,''  he  said,  in  a  formal  and 
measured  fashion.  "  You  say  you  have  become  a  woman  ;  and 
it  is  natural  you  should  begin  and  think  for  yourself ;  hitherto  1 
have  treated  you  as  a  child,  and  you  have  obeyed  and  believed 
implicitly.  As  for  your  immediate  wish,  I  may  say  at  once  that 
it  is  impossible.  There  is  no  kind  of  work  for  which  you  are 
fitted — even  if  I  were  prepared  to  live  on  your  earnings,  which 
I  am  not.  The  stage  ?.  What  could  you  do  on  the  stage  ?  Do 
yon  think  an  actress  is  made  at  a  moment's  notice  f  Or  a  dress- 
maker cither  ?  How  could  you  turn  dressmaker  to-morrow  ? — 
because  you  can  hem  handkerchiefs  i  And  as  for  making  use 
of  your  education,  do  yon  know  of  the  thousands  of  girls  whose 
French  and  Italian  and  music  are  as  good  as  yours,  and  who  can 
barely  gain  their  food  by  teaching  ?" 

He  altered  his  tone,  and  spoke  more  proudly. 

"  Bat  what  I  say  is  this :  that  you  do  not  understand,  yon 
have  not  yet  understood,  my  position.  When  Oeorge  Bethune 
condescends  to  accept  assistance,  as  you  call  it,  he  receives  no 
favor — he  confers  an  honor.  I  know  my  rights,  and  stand  on 
them ;  yes,  and  I  know  my  wrongs,  and  how  trifling  the  com- 
pensations ever  likely  to  be  set  against  them.  You  spoke  of 
Lord  Musselburgh ;  but  Lord  Musselburgh — a  mushroom  peer — 
the  representative  of  a  family  dragged  from  nothingness  by 
James  yi. — Lord  Mnsselbargh  knew  better  than  yon — well  he 


BTAHD  VAST,  ClUIO-ROT^TOR  t 


16 


7  money,  and 
'ill  tarn  dress- 
rork  h»rd  and 
t  be  so  much 
m't  you  think 
it  last,  grand- 
nt  any  longer, 
you  arc  going 
row  we  begin 
}r  each  other, 
i  going  to  say 
or  both  of  OB, 


iforco  her  ap- 
>  be  seated, 
a  formal  and 
■  woman ;  and 
)lf ;  hitherto  I 

and  believed 
y  at  once  that 
rhieh  you  are 
rnings,  which 
le  stage?  Do 
?  Or  a  dress- 
to-morrow  ? — 
r  making  use 
>f  girls  whose 

and  who  can 


derstand,  you 
orge  Bethune 
le  receives  no 

>nd  stand  on 
ing  the  com- 

ou  spoke  of 
iroom  peer — 
thingness  by 

rou — ^well  he 


knew — that  he  was  honoring  himself  in  receiving  into  his  house 
a  Bethano  of  Balloray.  And  as  for  his  granting  me  assistance, 
that  was  his  privilege,  his  opportunity,  his  duty.  Should  not  I 
have  done  the  like,  and  gladly,  if  our  positions  had  been  re- 
versed ?  Noblesse  oblige.  I  belong  to  bis  order — and  to  a  fam- 
ily older  by  centuries  than  his.  If  there  was  a  favor  conferred 
to-day  at  Musselburgh  House,  it  was  not  on  my  shoulders  that 
it  fell." 

He  spoke  haughtily,  and  yet  without  anger ;  and  there  was  a 
ring  of  sincerity  in  his  tones  that  could  not  be  mistaken.  The 
girl  sat  silent  and  abashed. 

"  No,"  said  he,  in  the  same  proud  fashion ;  "  during  all  my 
troubles,  and  they  have  been  more  numerous  than  yon  know  or 
need  ever  know,  I  have  never  cowered,  or  whimpered,  or  abased 
^nyself  before  any  living  being.  I  have  held  my  head  up.  My 
conscience  is  clear  towards  all  men.  '  Stand  fast,  Craig-Royston  1' 
it  has  been  with  me,  and  shall  be  I" 

He  went  to  the  window  and  shut  it.  . 

5  "Come,  light  the  gas,  Maisrie,  and  let  us  talk  about  something 
else.  What  I  say  is  this :  that  if  any  one,  recognizing  the  in- 
justice that  I  and  mine  have  suffered,  should  feel  it  due  to  him- 
self—  due  to  humanity — to  make  some  little  reparation — why, 
that  is  as  between  man  and  man — that  ought  to  be  considered 
his  privilege  ;  and  I  take  no  shame.  I  ask  for  no  compassion. 
The  years  that  I  can  hope  for  qow  must  be  few  ;  but  they  shall 
be  as  those  that  have  gone  before.  I  abase  myself  before  no  one. 
I  hold  my  bead  erect  I  look  the  world  in  the  face,  and  ask 
which  of  us  ha9  the  greater  cause  to  complain  of  the  other. 
'  Stand  f^st,  Craig-Boyston !'— >-that  has  been  *ny  motto ;  and  so, 
thank  Ood,  it  shall  be  to  the  end !" 

'  f  Maisrie  lit  the  gas,  and  attended  to  her  grandfather's  other 
wants,  in  a  mechanical  sort  of  way.  But  she  did  not  take  up  the 
violin  again.  There  was  a  strangely  absent  look  on  the  pale  and 
beautiful  and  pensive  fac«. 


MiililBaittte^Mta 


16 


STAND   rA8T,  OBAIG-BOTBTOV I 


CHAPTER  n. 

NXIOBDORB. 

Thk  yonng  man  yth^M  Lord  Musselbnrgli  had  hailed  came 
into  the  middle  of  the  room.  He  was  a  handsome  and  well* 
made  young  fellow  of  aboat  three  or  four  and  twenty,  with 
finely-cut  and  intelligent  features,  and  clear  gray  eyes  that  bvl 
a  curiously  straightforward  and  uncompromising  look  in  them, 
albeit  his  manner  was  modest  enough.  At  the  present  moment, 
however,  he  seemed  somewhat  perturbed. 

"  Who  were  those  two  i"  he  said,  quickly. 

"  Didn't  you  listen  while  the  old  gentleman  was  declaiming 
away  f  Musselburgh  made  answer.  "  An  enthusiastic  Scot,  if 
ever  there  was  one !  I  suppose  yc  never  heard  of  the  great 
Bethune  lawsuit  f 

"  But  the  other — the  girl  T' 

**  His  granddaughter,  I  think  he  said." 

"  She  is  the  most  beautiful  human  creature  I  ever  beheld  T 
the  young  man  exclaimed,  rather  breathlessly. 

His  friend  looked  at  him,  and  laughed. 

"That's  not  like  you,  Yin.  Take  care.  The  Hope  of  the 
Liberal  Party  enmeshed  at  four-and-twenty — ^that  wouldn't  do  I 
Pretty  !  Ob,  yes,  she  was  pretty  enough,  but  shy — I  hardly  saw 
anything  of  her.  I  dare  say  her  pretty  face  will  have  to  be  her 
fortune ;  I  suspect  the  poor  old  gentleman  is  not  overburdened 
with  worldly  possessions.  He  has  his  name,  however — ^he  seems 
proud  enough  of  that — and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  had  made 
friends  for  him  abroad — ^they  seem  to  have  travelled  a  good  deal** 

While  he  was  speaking  his  companion  had  mechanically  lifted 
from  the  table  the  card  which  old  Creorge  Bethune  had  sent  up. 
The  address  in  Mayfair  was  pencilled  %n  it  And  mechanically 
the  young  man  laid  down  the  card  agun. 

"  Well,  come  along,  Vin ;  let's  go  to  Victoria." 

**  No,  if  yon  don't  mind,  Musselburgh,"  said  the  other,  with 
downcast  eyes,  and  something  of  embarrassment^  "  I  would 


STAND   TA8T,  ORAIO-ROTSTOVI 


11 


hailed  came 
le  and  well- 
;wenty,  with 
^es  that  bvl 
Ktk  in  them, 
lent  moment, 


s  declaiming 
astic  Scot,  if 
of  the  great 


ret  beheld  r 


Hope  of  the 
iroaldn't  do  1 

hardly  saw 
tve  to  be  her 
overburdened 
ir— he  seems 
had  made 

good  deal** 
nically  lifted 

lad  sent  up. 
mechanically 


other,  with 
"I  would 


rather — not  go  down  to  the  Bungalow  to-night    Some  other 
time.     It  is  so  good  of  you  to  be  always  asking  me  down — " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  the  young  nobleuian  said,  looking  at  his 
friend  curiously,  "  what  is  the  matter  with  you  f  Are  you  in  a 
dream  f  Are  you  asleep  f  Haven't  I  told  you  that  Grandison  is 
coming  down  by  a  late  train  to-night  t  and  isn't  all  the  world 
envying  yon  that  the  great  man  should  make  such  a  protigi  and 
favorite  of  you)  Indeed,  you  must  come  down;  you  can't 
afford  to  lose  such  a  chance.  We  will  sit  up  for  him ;  and  you'll 
talk  to  him  during  supper,  and  you'll  listen  to  him  for  hours 
after  if  he  is  in  the  humor  for  monologues.  Then  to-morrow 
morning  you'll  take  him  away  birds'-nesting — ^he  is  as  eager  for 
any  new  diversion  as  a  schoolboy ;  and  you'll  have  him  all  to  , 
yourself ;  and  one  of  these  days,  before  you  know  wbere^^ou  are, 
ho'Il  hand  you  a  junior  lordship.  Or  is  it  the  under-secretary- 
ship  at  the  Home  Office  you're  waiting  forf  You  know  we're  all 
anxious  to  see  how  the  new  experiment  will  come  off.  The 
young  man  unspoiled  by  Oxford  or  Cambridge — untainted  by 
landlord  sentiment — trained  for  public  life  on  first  principles : 
one  wants  to  see  how  all  this  will  work  in  practice.  And  we 
never  dictate — oh,  no,  we  never  dictate  to  the  constituencies;  but 
when  the  public  notice  from  time  to  time  in  the  newspapers 
that  Mr.  Vincent  Harris  was  included  in  Mr.  Orandison's  din- 
ner-party on  the  previous  evening,  then  they  think — and  per- 
haps they  wonder — when  that  lucky  young  gentleman  is  going 
to  take  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons.  So,  really,  my 
dear  Vin,  yon  can't  afford  to  throw  away  this  chance  of  having 
Qrandison  all  to  yourself.  I  suppose  he  quite  understands  that 
you  are  not  infected  with  any  of  your  father's  socialistic  theo- 
ries? Of  course  it's  all  very  well  for  an  enormously  rich,  man 
like  your  father  to  play  with  communism ;  it  must  be  an  excit- 
ing sort  of  amusement — like  stroking  a  tiger's  tail,  and  wonder- 
ing what  will  happen  in  consequence ;  but  you  must  keep  clear 
of  that  kind  of  thing,  my  boy.     Now,  come  along — " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Musselburgh,"  the  young  man  said  in  the 
same  embarrassed  fashion ;  "  but  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'd  rather 
stay  in  town  to-night" 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  the  other  said,  good-naturedly,  "  I  shall  be 
up  in  a  day  or  two  again.    By  the  way,  the  Four-in-Hand 
Club  turns  out  on  Saturday.     Shall  I  give  yon  a  lift,  and 
8 


.aifMfMin* 


mmmm^/mmmm 


mmmm 


18 


STAND   rAST,  ORAIO-BOTBTONI 


ve'll  go  down  to  Hnrlingham  for  the  polof    Mrs.  Ellison  is 
coming." 

"  Oh,  thanks,  awfully  good  of  you.  I  shall  be  delighte^T,*'  the 
yoang  man  murmured ;  and  a  few  seconds  thereafter  the  two 
friends  had  separated.  Lord  Musselburgh  driving  off  in  a  han- 
som to  Victoria  Station. 

This  young  Vincent  Harris  who  now  walked  away  along  Pic- 
cadilly towards  Hyde  Park  was  in  a  sort  of  waking  trance.  He 
saw  nothing  of  the  people  passing  by  him,  nor  of  the  carriages, 
nor  of  the  crowd  assembled  at  the  corner  of  the  Row,  expecting 
the  princess.  Ho  saw  t  pale  and  pathetic  face,  a  dimly  outlinea 
figure  standing  by  a  table,  a  chastened  splendor  of  girlish  hair, 
an  attitude  of  meekness  and  diffidence.  Once  only  had  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  beautiful,  clear,  blue-gray  eyes — when 
she  came  in  at  the  door,  looking  startled  almost ;  bat  surely  a 
man  is  not  stricken  blind  and  dumb  by  a  single  glance  from  a 
gifl's  wondering  or  inquiring  eyes !  Lore  at  first  sight  ? — he 
would  have  dismissed  the  saggestion  with  anger,  as  an  imperti- 
nence, a  profanation.  It  was  not  love  at  all ;  it  was  a  strange 
kind  of  interest  and  sympathy  she  had  inspired — compassionate 
almost,  and  yet  more  reverent  than  pitiful.  There  appeared  to 
be  some  mysterious  and  subtle  appeal  in  her  very  youth.  Why 
should  one  so  young  be  so  solitary,  so  timid,  sheltering  herself, 
as  it  were,  from  the  common  gaze  ?  Why  that  touch  of  pathos 
about  a  mouth  that  was  surely  meant  to  smile?  Wby  the 
lowered  eyelashes  ?  Was  it  because  she  knew  she  was  alone  in 
this  great  wilderness  of  strangers,  in  this  teeming  town  t  And 
he  felt  in  his  heart  that  this  was  not  the  place  for  her  at  all. 
She  ought  to  have  been  away  in  sunny  meadows  golden  with 
buttercups,  with  the  laughter  of  young  children  echoing  around 
her,  with  the  wide  air  fragrant  with  the  new-mown  hay,  with 
thrushes  and  blackbirds  piping  clear  from  amidst  the  hawthorn 
boughs.  Who  had  imprisoned  this  beautiful  child,  and  made  a 
white  slave  of  her,  and  brought  her  into  this  great  roaring 
market  of  the  world  ?    And  was  there  no  one  to  help  i 

But  it  was  all  «  perplexity  to  him ;  even  as  was  this  indefin-. 
able  con'^em  and  anxiety  about  one  to  whom  he  had  never  even 
spoken  a  word.  What  was  there  in  that  pensive  beauty  that 
should  so  strangely  trouble  him  f  She  had  made  no  appeal  to 
bim ;  their  eyes  could  scarcely  be  said  to  hsv«  met,  even  in  that 


BTAinS  FAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTOIT  t 


1* 


rs.  Ellison  is 

lighten'/'  the 
ifter  the  two 
off  in  a  han- 

Ry  along  Pic- 

'  trance.     He 

;he  carriages, 

>w,  expecting 

imij  outlined 

F  girliBh  hair, 

only  had  he 

J  eyes — when 

bat  surely  a 

glance  from  a 

It  sight? — he 

IS  an  imperti- 

iras  a  strange 

lompassionate 

i  appeared  to 

^outh.    "Why 

ering  herself, 

ich  of  pathos 

f    Why  the 

was  alone  in 

town  t    And 

>r  her  at  all. 

golden  with 

loing  around 

vn  hay,  with 

he  hawthorn 

and  made  a 

reat  roaring 

this  indefin-. 
d  never  even 

beauty  that 
no  appeal  to 

even  in  that 


brief  moment ;  her  cruel  fate,  the  tyranny  of  her  surronndings, 
ber  pathetic  resignation,  were  all  part  and  parcel  of  a  distracted 
reverie  that  seemed  to  tear  his  heart  asunder  with  fears,  and  in- 
dignation, and  vows  of  succor.  And  then,  somehow,  amidst 
this  chaos  and  bewilderment,  his  one  desire  was  that  she  should 
know  he  wished  to  be  her  friend ;  that  some  day— ^oh,  some  wild, 
white  day  of  joy  ! — he  should  bo  permitted  to  take  her  hand  and 
say,  '*  Do  not  be  so  sad  I  You  are  not  so  much  alone.  Let  me  be 
by  your  side  for  a  little  while — until  you  speak — until  you  tell 
roe  what  I  can  do — ^until  you  say, '  Yes,  I  take  you  for  my  friend  I' " 
He  had  wandered  away  from  the  fashionable  crowd,  pacing 
aimlessly  along  the  unfrequented  roadways  of  the  Park,  and  lit- 
tle recking  of  the  true  cause  of  the  unrest  that  reigned  in  its 
bosom.  For  one  thing,  speculations  about  love  or  marriage  had 
so  far  concerned  him  but  slightly ;  these  things  were  too  remote ; 
his  aspirations  and  ambitions  were  of  another  sort.  Then, 
again,  he  was  familiar  with  feminine  society.  While  other  lads 
were  at  college,  their  thoughts  intent  on  cricket,  or  boating,  or 
golf,  he  had  been  kept  at  home  with  masters  and  teachers  to  fit 
him  for  the  practical  career  which  had  been  designed  for  him, 
and  part  of  the  curriculum  was  that  he  should  mix  freely  with 
his  kind,  and  get  to  know  what  people  of  our  own  day  were 
thinking — not  what  people  of  two  thousand  years  ago  had  been 
thinking.  One  consequence  of  this  was  that  "  Yin  "  Harris,  as 
he  was  universally  called,  if  he  did  not  know  everything,  ap- 
peared to  know  everybody ;  and  of  course  he  was  acquainted 
with  scores  on  scores  of  pretty  girls,  whom  he  liked  to  look  at 
when,  for  example,  they  wore  a  smart  lawn-tennis  costnme,  and 
who  interested  him  most,  perhaps,  when  they  were  saucy ;  and 
also  he  was  acquainted  with  a  considerable  number  of  young 
married  ladies,  who  were  inclined  to  pet  him,  for  he  was  gooH- 
natured  and  easy-mannered,  and,  it  may  be,  just  a  little  careless 
of  their  favor.  But  as  for  falling  seriously  in  love  (if  there 
were  such  a  thing)  or  perplexing  bimself  with  dreams  of  mar- 
riage— that  was  far  from  his  scheme  of  life.  His  morning  com- 
panions were  Spencer,  Bain,  John  Mill,  Delolme,  Hallam,  Free- 
man, and  the  like  ;  during  the  day  he  was  busy  with  questions 
relating  to  food  supply,  to  the  influence  of  climate  on  character, 
the  effect  of  religious  creeds  on  mental  development,  the  pro- 
tection'and  cultivation  of  new  indastries,  and  so  forth ;  then  in 


'^.^,. 


90 


BTAMD   FAST,  ORAIO-BOT8TOM I 


tho  evening  ho  was  down  %t  the  House  of  Commons  a  good  deal, 
especially  when  any  well-known  orator  was  expected  to  speak ; 
and,  again,  he  went  to  all  kinds  of  social  festivities,  part'cularly 
when  these  were  of  a  political  cast,  or  likely  to  be  attended  by 
political  people.  For  Yin  Harris  was  known  to  be  a  young  mun 
of  great  promise  and  prospects;  he  was  received  everywhere, 
and  granted  a  consideration  by  his  elders  which  was  hardly 
justified  by  his  years.  That  he  remained  unspoiled,  and  even 
modest  in  a  degree  unusual  at  his  age,  may  be  put  down  to  his 
credit,  or,  more  strictly,  to  the  fortunate  accident  of  his  tempera- 
ment and  disposition. 

How  long  he  walked,  and  whither  he  walked,  on  this  partio- 
uhir  evening  he  hardly  knew  ;  but  as  daylight  waned  he  found 
himself  in  Oxford  Street,  and  over  there  was  Park  Street.  Well 
enough  he  remembered  the  address  pencilled  on  the  visiting- 
card  ;  and  yet  he  was  timorous  about  seeking  it  out  He  passed 
and  went  on,  came  back  again,  glanced  nervously  down  the  long 
thoroughfare,  and  then  resumed  his  aimless  stroll  slowly  and  re- 
luctaatly.  To  these  indecisions  and  hesitations  there  came  the 
inevitable  climax :  with  eyes  lowered,  but  yet  seeming  to  see 
everything  around  him  and  far  ahead  of  him,  he  went  down 
Park  Street  until  he  came  to  the  smaller  thoroughfare  named  on 
the  card ;  and  there,  with  still  greater  shamefacedness,  he  paused 
and  ventured  to  look  at  the  house  that  he  guessed  to  be  the 
abode  of  the  old  man  and  his  granddaughter.  Well,  it  was  a 
sufficiently  humble  dwelling,  but  it  was  neat  and  clean ;  and  in 
the  little  balcony  outside  the  first  floor  were  a  number  of  pots  of 
flowers — lobelias,  ox-eye  daisies,  and  musk.  The  window  was 
open,  but  he  could  hear  nothing.  He  glanced  up  and  down  the 
small  street.  By  this  time  the  carriages  had  all  been  driven 
away  to  dinner-party  and  theatre ;  a  perfect  silence  prevailed 
everywhere ;  there  was  not  a  single  passer-by.  It  was  a  qniet 
corner,  a  restful  haven,  these  two  lonely  creatures  had  found 
after  their  varied  buffetings  about,  the  world.  And  to  this 
young  man,  who  had  just  come  away  from  the  roar  of  Oxford 
Street  and  its  surging  stream  of  human  life,  there  seemed  some- 
thing singularly  fascinating  and  soothing  in  the  stillness.  He 
began  to  think  that  he,  too,  would  like  to  escape  into  this  re- 
treat. They  would  not  object  to  a  solitary  companion,  to  a 
neighbor  who  would  be  content  to  Me  them  from  the  other 


pgr— ,|g^L-r;;a^ 


»i;i'.ii'jiAm«iiiiM«'«.'>Wi«>ii  ■!  -—^ 


.-J>m 


IB  a  good  doal, 
ted  to  spoak ; 
8,  part'cularly 
9  attended  by 
a  young  man 
1  everywhere, 
h  was  hardly 
led,  and  even 
t  down  to  his 
f  his  tempera- 

m  this  partic- 
ned  he  found 
Street.    Well 
I  the  visiting- 
t    He  passed 
lown  the  long 
slowly  and  r»- 
iiere  came  the 
$eming  to  see 
e  wont  down 
arc  named  on 
!S8,  he  paused 
ied  to  be  the 
Veil,  it  was  a 
lean ;  and  in 
yer  of  pots  of 
window  was 
Lnd  down  the 
)een  driven 
Lce  prevailed 
was  a  qniet 
had  found 
\.nd  to  this 
of  Oxford 
semed  some- 
illness.     He 
into  this  re- 
Mnion,  to  a 
the  other 


BTAHD  VAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTOITI 


» 


side  of  the  way,  at  the  window  now  and  again,  or  perhaps  to  say 
"Good-morning"  or  " Grood-evening "  as  they  passed  him  on  the 
pavement.  He  could  bring  his  books ;  here  would  be  ample  op- 
portunity for  study ;  there  were  far  too  many  distractions  and 
interruptions  at  his  father's  house.  And  then,  after  weeks  and 
weeks  of  patient  waiting,  then  perhaps  some  still  evening  he 
might  be  invited  to  cross  over  I  In  the  hushed  little  parlor  he 
would  take  his  seat,  and— oh,  the  wonder  and  entrancement  of  it  I 
— bo  privileged  to  sit  and  listen,  and  bear  what  the  wanderers— 
at  rest  at  last — had  to  say  of  the  far  and  outer  world  they  had 
left  behind  them.  He  did  not  know  what  she  was  called ;  but 
he  thought  of  several  names,  and  each  one  grew  beautiful — be- 
came possessed  of  a  curious  interest — when  he  guessed  that  it 
might  be  hers. 

Suddenly  the  silence  sprang  into  life ;  some  one  seemed  to 
speak  to  him ;  and  then  he  knew  that  it  was  a  violin — being 
played  in  that  very  room.  He  glanced  up  towards  the  open 
windovv ;  he  could  just  make  out  that  the  old  man  was  sitting 
there,  within  the  shadow ;  therefore  it  must  be  the  girl  herself 
who  was  playing  in  the  recess  of  the  chamber.  And  in  a  sort 
of  dream  he  stood  and  listened  to  the  plaintive  melody,  hardly 
breathing,  haunted  by  the  feeling  that  ho  was  intruding  on  some 
sacred  privacy.  Then,  when  the  beautiful,  pathetic  notes  ceased, 
he  noiselessly  withdrew  with  bowed  head.  She  had  been  speak- 
1  jg  to  him,  but  he  was  bewildered ;  he  could  hardly  tell  what 
that  trembling,  infinitely  sad  voice  had  said. 

He  walked  quickly  now ;  for  in  place  of  those  vague  anticipa- 
tions and  reveries  a  more  definite  purpose  was  forming  in  his 
brain ;  and  there  was  a  certain  joyousness  in  the  prospect.  The 
very  next  morning  he  would  come  up  to  this  little  thoroughfare, 
and  see  if  he  could  secure  lodgings  for  himself,  perhaps  opposite 
the  house  where  the  old  man  and  his  granddanghter  lived.  It 
was  time  he  was  devoting  himself  more  vigorously  to  study ; 
there  were  too  many  people  calling  at  the  big  mansion  in  Gros- 
venor  Place ;  the  frivolities  of  the  fashionable  world  were  too 
seductive.  But  in  the  seclusion  of  that  qniet  little  quarter  he 
could  give  himself  np  to  his  books,  and  he  would  know  that  he 
had  neighbors ;  he  might  get  a  glimpse  of  them  from  time  to 
time ;  that  would  lighten  his  toil.  Then,  when  Mary  Bethune — 
be  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Mary  was  her  name,  and  had 


■M 


tt 


■TAMD   rABT,  CRAIO-BOTSTOKI 


made  not  such  a  bad  gaeas,  aftor  all — played  ono  of  those  pa- 
thetic Scotch  aira,  he  would  have  a  better  right  to  listen ;  ho 
irould  contentedly  put  down  Seaman's  "  Progress  of  Nations," 
and  go  to  the  open  window,  and  sit  there  till  the  violin  had 
ceased  to  speak.  It  was  a  most  excellent  scheme ;  he  convinced 
himself  that  it  would  work  right  well,  because  it  was  based  on 
common-sense. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  great  house  in  Grosvenor  Place,  he 
went  at  once  into  the  dining-room,  and  found,  though  not  to  his 
surprise,  that  dinner  was  just  about  over.  There  were  only 
three  persons  seated  at  the  long  table,  which  was  sumptuously 
furnished  with  fruit,  flowers,  and  silver.  At  the  head  was  Yin 
Harris's  father — Mr.  Harland  Harris,  a  stout,  square-set,  some- 
what bourgeois-looking  m&n,  with  stiff,  pedantic,  and  pompous 
manner,  who,  nevertheless,  showed  his  scorn  of  conventionalities 
by  wearing  a  suit  of  gray  tweed.  On  his  right  sat  his  sister- 
in-law,  Mrs.  Ellison,  a  remarkably  pretty  young  widow,  tall  and 
elegant  of  figure,  with  wavy  brown  hair,  shrewd  blue  eyes,  and 
a  most  charming  smile,  that  she  could  use  with  effect ;  the  third 
member  of  the  group  being  Mr.  Ogden,  the  great  electioneerer 
of  the  North,  a  big  and  heavy  man,  with  Yorkshire-looking 
shoulders,  a  bald  head,  and  small,  piggish  eyes  set  in  a  wide 
extent  of  face.  Mr.  Op^.en  was  resplendent  in  evening  dress,  if 
his  shining  shirt-front  was  somewhat  billowy. 

"  What's  this  now !"  said  the  pretty  Mrs.  £iiison  to  the  young 
man,  as  he  came  and  pulled  in  a  chair  and  sat  down  by  her. 
"  Haven't  you  had  any  dinner  I" 

"  Oood  little  children  come  in  with  dessert,"  said  he,  as  he 
carelessly  helped  himself  to  some  olives  and  a  glass  tf  cUret. 
"  It's  too  hot  to  eat  food — nnnsnal  for  May,  isn't  it  f  Besides, 
I  had  a  late  luncheon  with  Musselburgh." 

"  Lord  Musselburgh  f"  put  in  Mr.  Ogden.  "  I  wonder  when 
his  lordship  is  going  to  tell  us  what  he  means  to  be— an  owner 
of  race-horses,  or  a  yachtsman,  or  a  statesman  f  It  seems  to  me 
he  can't  make  up  his  own  mind ;  and  the  public  don't  know 
whether  to  take  him  seriously  or  not" 

•*  Lord  Musselburgh,"  said  Vincent,  firing  np  in  the  defence 
of  his  friend,  "  is  an  English  gentleman,  who  thinks  he  ought  to 
support  English  institutions ;  and  I  dar«  say  that  is  why  he  doea 
not  find  saving  (race  in  the  caucos." 


W\i 


iTAHD  tAVt,  oiuia-mor#oiit 


M 


0  of  those  pa- 
;  to  liaten ;  ho 
8  of  Nauons," 
the  violin  had 
;  he  convinced 
'<  was  based  oo 

enor  Place,  he 
ongh  not  to  his 
ere  were  only 
IS  Bumptaously 

head  was  Vin 
uare-set,  some- 
,  and  pompous 
mventionalities 

sat  his  sister* 
ridow,  tall  and 
blue  eyes,  and 
Sect ;  the  third 
it  electioneerer 
rkshire-looking 

set  in  a  wide 
ening  dress,  if 

n  to  the  yoang 
down  by  her. 

laid  he,  as  he 
rlass  ->f  claret 
it! 


wonder  when 
)e — an  owner 
seems  to  me 
don't  know 

the  defence 
he  ought  to 
I  why  he  does 


i 


Perhaps  there  was  more  mdeness  than  point  in  this  remark ; 
bat  Mrs.  Ellison's  eyes  laughed— decorously  and  unobserved. 
She  said  aloud : 

"  For  my  part,  I  consider  Lord  Musselburgh  a  very  admirable 
young  roan.  Ho  has  offered  me  the  box-seat  on  his  coach  at 
the  next  meet  of  the  Four-in-Hand  Club." 

"  And  are  you  going,  aunt !"  her  nephew  asked. 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"Bather  rash  of  Musselburgh,  isp't  itt"  he  observed  in  a 
casual  sort  of  way. 

"Why!" 

"  What  attention  is  he  likely  to  pay  to  his  team,  if  yon  are 
sitting  beside  him  f ' 

"  None  of  your  impertinence,  sir,"  said  she ;  but  she  was 
pleased  all  the  saiae.  *'  Boys  must  not  say  such  things  to  their 
grandmothers." 

Now,  the  advent  of  Master  Yin  was  opportune ;  for  Mr.  Har- 
ris, finding  that  his  sister-in-law  had  now  some  one  of  like  mind 
to  talk  to,  left  those  two  frivolous  persons  alone,  and  addressed 
himself  exclusively  to  his  bulky  friend  from  the  North.  And 
his  discourse  took  the  form  of  pointing  out  what  were  the  prac- 
tical and  definite  aimn  that  Socialism  had  to  place  before  itself. 
As  to  general  principles,  all  thinking  men  were  agreed.  Every 
one  who  had  remarked  the  signs  of  the  times  knew  that  the 
next  great  movement  in  modem  lu'e  must  be  the  emancipation 
*  of  the  wage-slave.  The  tyranny  of  the  capitalist — worse  than 
any  tyranny  that  existed  under  the  feudal  system — must  be 
cribbed  and  confined ;  too  long  had  he  gorged  himself  with  the 
fruits  of  the  labors  of  his  fellow-creatures.  The  most  despicable 
of  tyrants,  he ;  not  only  robbing  and  plundering  the  hapless 
beings  at  his  mercy,  but  debasing  their  lives,  depriving  them 
of  their  individualism,  of  the  self-respect  which  was  the  birth- 
right of  the  humblest  handicraftsman  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
making  of  them  mere  machines  for  the  purpose  of  .filling  his 
pockets  with  useless  and  inordinate  wealth.  What  was  to 
be  done,  then  t  What  were  the  immediate  steps  to  be  taken 
in  order  to  alter  this  system  of  monstrous  and  abominable  plun- 
der t  It  was  all  very  well  to  make  processions  to  Pdre  Lachaise, 
and  wave  red  flags,  and  wax  eloquent  over  the  graves  of  the 
Communists ;  but  there  was  wanted  something  more  than  talk, 


94 


STiA  rA^T,  OKAIO-BOTITOin 


■omething  more  than  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  martyrs, 
something  actual  to  engage  our  own  cffortu,  if  the  poor  man 
was  not  to  be  forever  ground  to  the  dust,  himso!'  and  his 
starving  family,  by  the  relentless  plutocrat  and  his  convenient 
freedom  of  contract.  Let  the  State,  then  —  that  engine  of 
oppression  which  had  been  invented  by  the  rich  —  now  sea 
whether  it  could  not  do  something  for  all  classes  under  its 
care ;  let  it  consider  the  proletariat  as  well  as  the  unscrupulous 
landlords  and  the  sordid  and  selfish  bourgeoisie.  Already  it 
was  working  the  telegraphs,  the  post-office,  the  parcels  post, 
the  dockyards,  and  savings  banks;  and  if  it  regulated  the 
wages  it  paid  by  wngo-rate  of  the  outside  market,  that  was  be- 
cause it  followed  the  wi'^kcd  old  system  of  unequal  distribu- 
tion of  profit  that  was  soon  to  be  destroyed.  That  would 
speedily  be  amended.  What  further,  then }  The  land  for  the 
people,  first  of  all.  As  clear  as  daylight  was  the  right  of  the 
people  to  the  land ;  let  the  State  assume  possession,  and  manage 
it — its  mines  and  minerals,  its  agriculture,  its  public  grounds 
and  parks — for  the  benefit  of  all,  not  for  the  profit  of  a  pam- 
pered few.  The  State  must  buy  and  own  the  railways,  mast 
establish  communal  centres  of  distribution  for  the  purchase  and 
exchange  of  goods,  must  establish  systems  of  credit,  must  break 
down  monopoly  everywhere,  and  the  iron  power  of  commereial- 
ism  that  was  crushing  the  life  out  of  the  masses  of  the  popu- 
lation. The  State  must  organize  production,  so  that  each  man 
shall  do  hie  share  of  work  demanded  by  the  community,  and  no 
more. 

But  here  Mrs.  Ellison,  who  had  doubtless  heard  or  read  all 
this  before,  turned  away  altogether.  Sh»  asked  her  nephew  to 
give  her  some  more  strawberries. 

"  I  say,  Vin,"  she  remarked,  incidentally,  "  what  very  beautiful 
dessert-plates  these  are  I  1  don't  remember  them.  Where  did 
you  get  them !" 

"  I  thought  you  would  admire  them,"  said  he.  "  They  are  my 
father's  own  design." 

"  Really  I  I  call  them  very  handsome,  and  so  quaint  and  an* 
nsual.  He  must  tell  me  where  I  can  get  some  of  them ;  when 
I  go  back  to  Brighton  I  should  like  to  take  a  few  with  me  for 
my  small  establishment." 

"  But  you  can't,  aunt,"  he  said. 


'*?'?''P'^?JiiWil%J-liiJ-y*^!^.^!i'Ji'.''^^ 


itf^-  .'•.■}i&.i'i}'iH'A'"'i  J^iji% 


of  th«  martyrs, 
if  the  poor  man 
liimBo!'  and  his 
1  hia  convenient 
-that  engine  of 

rich  — now  see 
:lnssos  under  ita 
he  unscrupulous 
sie.  Already  it 
lie  parcels  post, 
t  regulated  the 
ket,  that  was  be- 
inequal  distribn- 
d.  That  would 
rhe  land  for  the 
the  right  of  the 
lion,  and  manage 

public  grounds 
profit  of  a  pam- 
0  railways,  mast 
ho  purchase  and 
redit, roust  bieak 
f  of  commercial- 
les  of  the  popu- 
that  each  man 
nmunity,  and  no 

eard  or  read  all 
her  nephew  to 

at  very  beautiful 
m.     Where  did 

"  They  arc  my 

quaint  and  an* 
of  them ;  when 
ew  with  me  for 


■TAltD   VAST,  ORAIO-KOraTONI  M 

"Whyr 

"  Because  my  father  had  the  moulds  broken." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  sniggered — yes, 
sniggered,  but  discreetly,  so  that  the  two  perforvid  politicians 
should  not  see. 

"  That  is  pretty  well,"  she  observed  in  an  undertone,  "  for  a 
Socialist  and  Communist — to  have  the  moulds  broken  so  that 
nobody  else  should  have  any  1" 

Presently  she  said  in  the  same  undertone : 

"  I'm  going  to  catch  your  eye  in  a  minute,  Yin.  Are  yon 
coming  up-stairs  to  the  drawing-room  with  mc !" 

"  Yes,  of  course,  aunt,"  said  ho,  instantly.  *'  Got  up  now,  and 
lot's  bo  off." 

She  rose  ;  so  did  her  brother-in-law.  Mr.  Ogden  remained  in 
his  chair,  perhaps  through  inattention,  or  perhaps  he  was  be- 
wildered by  the  consciousness  that  ho  ought  to  make,  as  a  relic 
of  his  ancient  workship  of  laitiez /aire,  some  protest  against  this 
wholesale  intervention  of  the  State.  Then  Vincent  opened  the 
door  for  the  tall  and  bright-eyed  young  widow,  and  he  and  she 
passed  out  and  went  up-stairs  together. 

When  they  entered  the  spacious  and  richly-furnished  room, 
the  atmosphere  of  which  was  heavy  with  the  scent  of  flowers, 
Mrs.  Ellison  seated  herself  in  a  low  lonnging-chair,  while  her 
nephew  stood  some  little  way  off,  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
his  eyes  absently  staring  into  a  rose-shaded  lamp,  as  if  he  could 
8C0  pictures  there.  When  she  spoke,  no  doubt  ho  hoard ;  but 
he  did  not  answer  or  interrupt ;  ho  allowed  her  to  ramblTe^on, 
and  she  was  in  a  talkativo  and  vivacious  mood. 

"  I'm  going  to  the  Drawing-room  to-morrow,  Vin,"  said  she, 
"  to  present  Louie  Drcxel ;  and  if  you  were  kind  and  civil  you 
would  come  down  to  St.  James's  Park  and  find  out  our  brougham 
and  talk  to  us  while  we  are  waiting.  I  do  co  want  you  to  get 
to  know  Miss  Drexel  well ;  it  would  bo  worth  your  while,  I  can 
tell  you.  Ton  see,  those  American  girls  have  such  excellent 
good  sense.  This  evening,  before  you  came  in,  your  father  was 
treating  us  to  a  dissertation  on  the  iniquity  of  riches— or  rather 
the  absurdity  of  people  revelling  in  wealth,  and  at  the  same 
time  professing  to  be  OhristiaDS.  He  asked — and  I'm  saro  I 
couldn't  answer  him — ^how  a  bishop  can  reconcile  his  enjoyment 
of  £10,000  a  year  with  Christ's  plain  injunction^  <  Sell  all  that 
B 


M 


■TAND    rAHT,  ORAKI-HOYMTON  I 


thou  hut  Ami  itiHtrihiito  unto  the  poor.'  And  while  I  wm  linUin- 
infi^  to  the  tormoii,  I  wnn  thinking  of  you,  Vin.  I  don*t  know 
how  far  you  have  accoptod  your  fatlier's  thcoricH — which  ho  Min- 
Hcif  taken  prccioun  ((ood  care  not  to  put  into  practice.  Hut  nomu 
day — for  young  men  are  no  impulHivo  and  wilful  an<l  uncertain 
— you  might  auddenly  take  it  into  your  head  to  do  nomu  wild 
thing  of  that  kind ;  and  then  don't  you  Hce  how  well  it  would  l>o 
for  you  to  l>e  married  to  a  Rensihlo  American  girl ;  for  if  you 
wore  to  sell  all  that  you  have  and  give  to  tho  poor,  she  would 
make  pretty  certain  you  didn't  hcII  all  that  slie  had — ho  long  as 
tho  Married  Women'H  Property  Act  was  in  force.  Tlioro'H  no 
mad  quixotiHm  about  a  girl  like  that — level-headed,  isn't  that 
what  they  call  it  over  there  f  Then  think  what  a  help  auch  a 
wife  as  that  would  be  to  you  in  public  life.  Think  of  an  election, 
for  example — why,  I^ouio  Drexol  could  talk  tho  voters  out  of 
their  five  senses — bamboozle  tho  women,  and  laugh  the  men  into 
good-humor.  I  wonder  you  didn't  pick  up  ono  of  those  bright 
American  girls  when  you  were  over  in  the  States ;  I  suppose 
you  were  too  busy  examining  tho  political  machine,  and  tho 
macliinists.  But  I'm  glad  you  didn't ;  I  couldn't  trust  you  ;  and 
I'm  going  to  do  it  for  you  myself.  You  aro  my  boy ;  I'm  going 
to  provide  for  you.  And  I  haven't  fixed  on  Louie  Drexcl  yet; 
l)ut  at  the  same  time  you  might  como  down  to- m  .'/row  to  St, 
James's  Park  and  talk  to  her." 

IIo  withdrew  his  eyes  from  tho  crimson  lamp,  and  came  and 
took  a  cli.iir  near  her, 

"  I  am  thinking  of  making  a  little  change  in  my  arrange- 
ments," said  he.  "  There  is  too  much  distraction  hero ;  especially 
at  this  time  of  tlie  year,  when  everybody's  in  town.  I  am  going 
to  take  rooms  elsewhere." 

"  Oh,  ho !"  cxclaime''  the  pretty  young  widow  with  a  smile.  "  Is 
that  it  ?  The  restraint  oi  iiomc  has  been  found  too  much  at  last ;  we 
roust  have  freedom,  add  wine-parties,  and  cards  ?  Well,  who  can 
wonder  at  it?  I  warned  your  father  years  ago  of  tho  folly  of  not 
sending  you  to  college ;  you  would  have  had  all  that  over  by  this 
time,  like  other  young  men ;  but  no,  the  future  champion  of  the 
proletariat  was  not  to  have  his  mind  contaminated  by  the  sons 
of  squires.  Well,  and  whore  have  the  princely  apartments 
been  chosen  ?  In  Piccadilly,  of  course — yellow  satin  and  golden 
goblets." 


■\m.  L 


»hilu  I  WM  linUiii- 
n.  I  don't  know 
» — which  he  hiin- 
ctiro.  Hut  Homo 
Fill  nnd  unccrtnin 
to  do  Romo  wild 
r  well  it  woiihl  be 
f^irl ;  for  if  you 
poor,  sho  would 

Iwid — HO  long  KH 

rco.  Thoro'H  no 
ii-itdod,  isn't  that 
lat  n  help  Ruch  a 
nk  of  un  election, 
lio  voturs  out  of 
afi\\  the  men  into 
0  of  those  bright 
tntcs ;  I  Bupposo 
nachine,  and  the 
I't  trust  you  ;  and 
'  boy ;  I'm  going 
ouie  Drcxcl  yet ; 
onj  ,<rrow  to  St 

\  and  came  and 


n  my  «rraiii;e- 
loro;  capecially 
I  am  going 


in 


ithasmilc.  "Is 
much  at  last ;  wo 

Well,  who  can 
the  folly  of  not 
lat  over  by  this 

lampion  of  the 
;ed  by  the  sons 
oly  apartments 
atin  and  golden 


f-vL 


mn  I  ;  li -I  fif 


BTAND    rAST,  ORAIQ-ROYSTOH I 


99 


"  Yoa  are  quite  mistaken,  aunt,"  he  said,  simply.  "  The  rooms 
I  hope  to  get  to-morrow  are  in  a  quiet  little  street  that  I  dare  say 
you  never  heard  of ;  if  you  saw  it,  you  might  probably  call  it 
slummy." 

"  Oh,  is  that  it  ?"  she  said  again,  for  her  brain  was  nimble  and 
swift  in  the  construction  of  theories.  "  Then  you  are  really  go- 
ing to  put  some  of  your  father's  principles  into  practice,  and  to 
consort  with  the  masses!  I've  often  wondered  when  he  was 
going  to  begin  himself.  You  know  how  he  declares  it  to  be 
monstrous  that  there  should  be  people  of  your  own  race,  and 
color,  and  religion,  whom  you  would  hesitate  to  ask  to  sit  down 
at  the  same  table  as  yourself ;  but  I  have  not  heard  him  as  yet 
ask  Jack  the  crossing-sweeper  or  Tom  from  the  stable-yard  to 
come  in  and  dine  with  him.  And  if  they  came  in  without  an 
invitation— taking  him  at  his  word,  as  it  were — I'm  afraid  their 
reception  wouldn't  be  warm — ^yes,  it  would  be  remarkably  warm ; 
they'd  be  thrown  out  of  the  front  door  in  a  couple  of  seconds. 
So  you  are  going  slumming,  is  that  it  ?  You  want  to  understand 
the  great  heart  of  the  people  before  you  lead  them  on  to  anarchy 
and  universal  plunder?" 

"  Aunt,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  you  mustn't  say  such  things 
to  me ;  you  mustn't  pour  reactionary  poison  into  my  young 
mind.  No ;  I  am  going  to  retire  into  that  quiet  little  corner  of 
London  simply  to  get  on  with  my  books ;  and  r  -  I  sha'n't  let 
anybody  know  where  it  is,  I  can't  bo  disturbed." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  live  ♦^ere  altogether  ?"  she  asked,  glancing 
quickly  at  him.     "  Shall  you  sleep  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  shall  come  home  here  each  evening." 

"  To  dinner  ?  But  it  is  no  use  asking  you  that ;  for  you  never 
seem  to  care  where  you  dine,  or  whether  you  dine  at  all.  Have 
you  told  your  father  of  thio  scheme  ?" 

"No,  not  yet,"  he  made  answer;  and  he  could  say  nothing 
further  just  then,  for  at  this  moment  Harland  Harris  and  his 
guest  came  up-stairr  from  the  dining-room,  and  Mr.  Ogden  pro- 
ceeded tc  engMge  the  young  widow  in  ponderous  conversation. 

As  good -luck  would  have  it,  when  Vincent  went  up  next 
morning  to  the  little  thoroughfare  leading  from  Park  Street  he 
founcl  exactly  the  rooms  he  wanted,  and  engaged  them  there 
and  then,  paying  a  fortnight's  rent  in  advance  in  order  to  calm 
the  good  landlady's  mind,  for  he  had  not  a  scrap  of  lugga^ro 


M 


BTAMD   FAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTON I 


with  him.  The  sitting-room  was  all  he  really  required,  to  be 
sure ;  but  he  did  not  wish  to  be  diatarbed  by  having  the  adjoin- 
ing bedroom  occupied ;  so  he  took  that  too,  money  not>  being  of 
much  consequence  to  this  young  man.  And  then,  when  the 
landlady  left,  ho  sat  down  to  look  at  bis  new  possessions.  The 
apartments  must  have  looked  poorly  furnished  to  eyes  familiar 
with  the  splendor  of  Grosvenor  Place ;  but,  at  all  events,  they 
seemed  clean.  Cheap  Qcrman  lithographs  adorned  the  walls; 
the  fireplace  was  gay  with  strips  of  pink  paper.  But  when  he 
approached  the  window — which  he  did  stealthily — ihere  was 
more  to  interest  him ;  the  opposite  two  windows,  behind  the 
balcony  filled  with  flowers,  were  both  open.  At  any  moment  a 
figure  might  appear  there,  perhaps  looking  out  absently  and 
vaguely  with  those  beautiful  and  wistful  eyes ;  or  perchance  he 
might  hear  the  tender  strains  of  the  unseen  violin.  He  re- 
mained there  for  some  time,  rather  breathless  and  nervous, 
until  he  recollected  that  he  had  come  hither  for  purposes  of 
study ;  and  thent  he  thought  he  would  go  away  down  to  Gros- 
venor Place  and  seek  out  such  books  and  writing  materials  as  ho 
might  want,  and  bring  them  along  forthwith. 

He  went  down-stairs  and  was  just  about  to  step  outside  when 
he  caught  sight  of  something  across  the  way  which  caused  him 
instantly  to  shrink  back  and  shelter  himself  within  the  shadow 
of  the  door,  his  heart  beating  quickly.  He  had  nearly  been  face 
to  face  with  the  pensive-eyed  young  girl,  for  she  had  come  forth 
from  the  opposite  house,  and  was  waiting  for  her  grandfather  to 
follow.  He  remained  concealed — fearful  of  being  seen,  and  yet 
scarcely  knowing  why.  Then,  when  he  heard  the  door  on  the 
other  side  shut,  and  when  he  had  allowed  them  a  few  seconds' 
grace,  he  stepped  forth  from  his  hiding,  and  saw  that  they'  were 
just  turning  the  comei'  into  Park  Street. 

Why  this  perturbation,  that  caused  his  hands  to  tremble,  that 
caused  his  eyeballs  to  throb,  as  he  looked  and  looked,  and  yet 
hardly  dared  to  look !  He  was  doing  no  harm — he  was  thinking 
no  harm.  These  thoroughfares  were  open  to  all ;  the  May  morn- 
ing was  warm  and  fine  and  clear ;  why  should  not  he  take  his 
way  to  Hyde  Park  as  well  as  another  ?  Even  in  furtively  watch- 
ing whither  they  went — in  keeping  a  certain  distance  between 
them  and  him — there  was  no  sort  of  sacrilege  or  outrage.  If 
they  had  turned  and  confronted  him,  they  couid  not  have  recog- 


mmm>m- 


BTAHD   FAST,  OBAIO-ROTBTOH I 


19 


y  required,  to  bo 
aving  the  adjoin- 
iney  noi  being  of 

then,  when  the 
ossessions.     The 

to  eyes  familiar 
b  all  events,  they 
orned  the  walls; 
r.  But  when  he 
thily — ihere  was 
lows,  behind  the 
X  any  moment  a 
ut  absently  and 
or  perchance  he 

violin.  He  ro- 
is  and  nervous, 
for  purposes  of 
r  down  to  Gros- 
l  materials  as  ho 

ep  outside  when 
lich  caused  him 
hin  the  shadow 
learly  been  face 
had  come  forth 
'  grandfather  to 
)g  seen,  and  yet 
he  door  on  the 
a  few  seconds' 
that  they  were 

to  tremble,  that 
ooked,  and  yet 
e  was  thinking 
the  May  morn- 
lot  he  take  his 
urtively  watch- 
itance  between 
>r  outrage.  If 
tot  have  recog- 


nized him ;  it  was  almost  impossible  they  could  have  observed 
the  young  man  who  was  half-concealcd  by  the  curtains  of  the 
room  iu  Musselburgh  House.  And  yet — ^yet — there  was  some 
kind  of  tremulous  wonder  in  his  being  so  near  her — in  his  being 
allowed,  without  let  or  hindrance,  to  gaze  upon  the  long,  fldwing 
masses  of  hair,  that  caught  a  sheen  light  here  and  there,  and 
stirred  with  the  stirring  of  the  wind.  And  then  the  simple  grace 
and  ease  of  her  carriage — she  held  her  head  most  erect  in  these 
quiet  thoroughfares— sometimes  she  turned  a  little  to  address 
the  old  man,  and  then  her  refined  and  sensitive  profile  became 
visible,  and  also  the  mysterious  charm  of  the  long  and  drooping 
lashes.  He  noticed  that  she  never  looked  at  any  passer-by ;  but 
she  did  not  seem  so  aad  on  this  fresh  morning ;  she  was  talking 
a  good  deal — and  cheerfully,  as  he  hoped.  He  wished  for  more 
sunlight,  that  the  day  might  brighten  ail  around  her,  that  the 
warm  airs  might  be  sweet  with  the  blossoms  of  the  opening  sum- 
mer. 

For  now  they  were  nearing  Hyde  Park,  and  away  before  them 
stretched  the  pale  blue  vistas  of  atmosphere  under  the  wide- 
swaying  branches  of  the  maples.  They  crossed  to  Grosvenor 
Gate ;  they  left  the  dull  roar  of  Park  Lane  behind  them ;  they 
passed  beneath  the  trees,  and  emerged  upon  the  open  breadths 
of  verdure  intersected  by  pale  pink  roads.  Though  summer  had 
come  prematurely,  this  was  almost  an  April-like  day ;  there  was 
a  southwest  wind  blowing  and  flattening  the  feathery  grasses; 
there  were  shafts  of  misty  sunlight  striking  here  and  there, 
while  a  confusion  of  clouds — ^purple  and  gray  and  silver — floated 
heavily  through  the  surcharged  sky.  The  newly-shorn  sheep 
we:e  quite  white — for  London.  A  smart  young  maid-servant 
idly  shoving  a  perambulator  had  a  glory  of  spring  flowers  in  her 
bonnet.  The  mild  air  blowing  about  brought  grateful  odors. 
Was  it  from  the  greensward  all  around  or  from  the  more  distant 
masses  of  hawthorn  white  and  red  ? 

The  old  man,  marchi*>g  with  uplifted  head  and  sometimes 
swinging  the  stick  that  he  carried,  was  singing  aloud  in  the  gay- 
ety  of  his  heart,  though  Vin  Harris,  carefully  keeping  at  a  certain 
distance,  could  not  make  out  either  the  words  or  the  air.  The 
young  giri,  on  the  other  hand,  was  simply  looking  at  the  various 
objects,  animate  and  inanimate,  around  her ;  at  the  birds  pick- 
ing up  straws  or  shreds  of  wool  for  the  building  of  their  nests ; 


80 


BTAMD   FAST,  OBAtO-HOTBTOir  t 


J 


ftt  the  wind  thiTering  through  thi*  gray  spikelets  of  the  grass; 
at  the  ever-changing  conf ormati'/n  of  the  clouds ;  at  the  sway- 
ing of  the  branches  of  the  tree. ;  while  from  time  to  time  there 
came  floating  over  from  Kn'.ghtsbridge  the  sound  of  a  military 
band<  No,  she  did  not  appear  so  sad  as  she  had  done  the  day 
before ;  and  there  was  something  cheerful,  too,  about  her  cos- 
tume— about  the  simple  dress  of  dark  blue  and  white-striped 
linen,  and  the  sailor's  bat  of  cream  white  with  a  dark  blue  band. 
Mary,  he  made  sure  her  name  was — Mary  Bethune.  Only  a 
name  to  him — nothing  more.  A  strange,  indefinable,  immeasur- 
able distance  lay  between  them ;  not  for  him  was  it  to  draw 
near  to  her  to  breathe  the  same  air  with  her,  to  listen  to  the  low 
tones  of  her  voice,  to  wait  for  the  uplifting  of  the  mysteriously 
shaded  eyes.  And  as  for  fancies  become  more  wildly  audacious 
— what  would  bo  the  joy  of  any  human  being  who  should  bo 
allowed  to  touch  with  trembling  finger-tips — with  reverent  and 
almost  reluctant  finger-tips — the  soft  uplendor  of  that  shining 
and  beautiful  hair  ?  '^ 

George  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter  made  their  way  down 
to  the  Serpentine  and  took  their  places  on  a  bench  there,  while 
the  old  man  proceeded  to  draw  from  his  pocket  a  newspaper, 
which  he  leisurely  began  to  read.  The  girl  had  nothing  to  do 
but  sit  placidly  there  and  look  around  her — at  the  shimmering 
stretch  of  water,  at  the  small  boys  sailing  their  mimic  yachts,  at 
the  quacking  ducks  and  yelping  dogs,  at  the  ever-rustling  and 
murmuring  trees.  Vin  Harris  had  now  dared  to  draw  a  little 
nearer,  but  sti'I  he  felt  that  she  was  worlds  and  worlds  away. 
How  noany  yards  were  there  between  him  and  hert  not  yards  at 
all,  but  infinities  of  space  1  They  were  strangera  to  each  other ; 
no  spoken  word  was  possible  between  them;  they  might  go 
through  to  the  end  of  life  with  this  impalpable  barrier  forever 
dividing  them.  And  yet  it  seemed  a  sort  of  miraculous  thing 
that  he  was  allowed  to  come  so  close,  that  he  oould  almost  tell 
the  individual  threads  of  that  soft-shining  hair.  Then  more 
than  once,  too,  ho  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  raised  eyes 
as  she  turned  to  address  her  grandfather ;  and  that  was  a  start- 
ling and  bewildering  experience.  It  was  not  their  mere  beauty ; 
though,  to  bo  sure,  their  clear  and  limpid  deeps  seemed  all  the 
more  clear  and  limpid  because  of  the  touch  of  sun-tan  on  her 
complexion;  it  was  rather  that  they  were  full  of  all  ineffable 


MX 


BTAHD   FABT,  CBAIO-R0T8TON  I 


81 


its  of  the  grass; 
Is;  at  the  sway- 
me  to  time  there 
nd  of  a  military 
id  done  the  day 
,  about  her  co8- 
nd  whitenstriped 
dark  blue  band, 
sthnne.  Only  a 
aable,  immeasnr- 
was  it  to  draw 
listen  to  the  low 
ihe  mysteriously 
nrildly  audacious 
who  should  bo 
ith  reverent  and 
of  that  shining 

their  way  down 
ich  there,  while 
9t  a  newspaper, 
i  nothing  to  do 
the  shimmering 
nimic  yachts,  at 
i^er-rustling  and 
to  draw  a  little 
worlds  away. 
t  not  yards  at 
to  each  other ; 
they  might  go 
>arrier  forever 
iraculous  thing 
>uld  almost  tell 
Then  more 
er  raised  eyes 
lat  was  a  start- 
mere  beauty ; 
seemed  all  the 
sun-tan  on  her 
all  ineffabl« 


things — simplicity,  submission,  gratitude,  affection,  and  even,  as 
he  rejoiced  to  think,  some  measure  of  mild  enjoyment.  For  the 
moment  there  was  little  of  that  pensive  and  resigned  look  that 
had  struck  him  in  the  figure  standing  with  bowed  head  at  Lord 
Musselburgh's  table.  She  appeared  to  be  pleased  with  the 
various  life  around  her  and  its  little  incidents ;  she  regarded  the 
sailing  of  the  miniature  yachts  with  interest.  When  a  brace  of 
duck  went  whirring  by  overhead  she  followed  their  flight  until 
they  were  lost  to  view ;  she  watched  two  small  urchins  furtively 
fishing  for  minnows,  with  an  eye  on  the  distant  park-keeper. 
There  was  a  aniversal  rustling  of  leaves  in  the  silence;  and 
sometimes,  when  the  wind  blew  straight  across,  the  music  of 
the  military  band  became  more  distinct. 

How  long  they  remained  there  the  young  man  did  not  know ; 
it  was  a  golden  morning,  and  all  too  brief.  But  when  at  last 
they  did  rise  to  go  he  was  nearly  caught ;  for  instead  of  return- 
ing by  the  way  they  had  come,  they  struck  westward ;  and  he 
suddenly  saw  with  alarm  that  there  was  no  time  for  him  to  get 
behind  one  of  the  elms.  All  he  could  do  was  to  turn  aside  and 
lower  his  eyes.  They  passed  within  a  few  yards  of  him ;  he 
could  distinctly  hear  the  old  man  singing,  with  a  fine  note  of 
bravado  in  his  voice,  "  The  standard  on  the  braes  o'  Mar  is  up 
and  streaming  rarely ;"  then,  when  he  was  sure  they  were  some 
way  off,  he  madp  bold  to  raise  his  eyes  again.  Had  she  taken 
any  notice  of  him  ?  He  hoped  not  He  did  not  wish  her  to 
think  him  a  spy ;  he  did  not  wish  to  be  known  to  her  at  alL 
He  should  be  her  constant  neighbor,  her  companion  almost, 
without  any  consciousness  on  her  part.  And  again  and  again 
he  marvelled  that  the  landlady  in  the  little  thoroughfare  should 
have  given  him  those  treasures  of  rooms — should  have  put  such 
happiness  within  his  reach  —  for  so  trivial  a  sum  —  seventeen 
shillings  a  week! — when  each  moment  would  be  a  diamond, 
and  each  evening  hour  a  string  of  diamonds  I 

But  nevertheless  i'.  3re  were  his  studies  to  be  thought  of;  so 
now  ho  walked  away  down  to  Orosvenor  Place,  gathered  his 
books  together,  and  took  them  up  in  a  hansom  to  his  newly- 
acquired  lodgings.  That  afternoon  he  did  loyally  stick  to  his 
work,  or  tried  to  do  so,  though,  in  fact,  his  ears  were  alert  for 
any  sound  coming  from  the  other  side  of  the  way.  He  had  left 
bis  window  open ;  one  of  the  windows  of  the  opposite  house 


^HUMMOaiBitih. 


8S 


STAND   FAST,  ORAIO-BOTBTOW I 


\ 


was  also  left  op«n.  Occasionally  he  would  lay  down  Draper's 
"  Civil  War  in  America,"  and  get  up  and  stretch  his  legu,  and, 
from  a  coBvenient  shelter,  send  a  swift  glance  of  scrutiny  across 
the  street.  There  was  no  sign.  Perhaps  they  had  gone  out 
again,  shopping,  or  visiting,  or,  u  likely  as  not,  to  look  at  the 
people  riding  and  driving  in  the  Park.  He  returned  to  Draper, 
and  to  President  Jackson's  Proclamation,  but  with  loss  of  inter- 
est :  bis  annotations  became  fewer.  He  was  listening  as  well 
as  reading. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  there  flashed  into  his  brain  a  sugges- 
tion— a  suffgestion  that  had  little  to  do  with  Clay's  Compro- 
mise, or  the  project  to  arrest  Mr.  Calhoun.  On  the  previous 
evening  it  had  seemed  to  him  as  though  the  unseen  violinist 
were  speaking  to  him ;  why,  then,  should  he  not  answer  in  the 
same  language  f  There  could  be  no  offence  in  that — no  imper- 
tinence ;  it  would  be  merely  one  vague  voice  responding  to  the 
other,  the  unknown  communicating  in  this  flcshless  and  blood- 
less way  with  the  unknown.  And  now  he  was  abundantly 
grateful  to  his  aunt  for  having  insisted  on  his  including  music 
among  bis  various  studies  and  accomplishments;  a  use  had 
come  for  his  slight  proficiency  at  last.  Most  modem  languages 
he  knew,  but  ho  had  never  expected  to  be  called  upon  to  speak 
in  this  one.  And  yet  what  more  simple  as  between  neighbors  t 
He  was  not  thrusting  his  society  on  any  one ;  he  was  invading 
no  privacy ;  he  was  demanding  no  concession  of  friendship  or 
even  acquaintance.  But  at  least  the  dreadful  gulf  of  silence 
would  be  bridged  over  by  this  mystic  means. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock ;  London  was  busy  when  he  went 
out  on  this  hot  evening.  He  walked  along  to  a  music-publish- 
er's place  in  Regent  Street,  and  hired  a  piano  on  the  express 
stipulation  that  it  was  to  be  in  his  rooms  within  one  hour. 
Then,  as  he  had  only  had  a  biscuit  for  lunch,  and  wished  to 
leave  himself  untrammelled  later  on,  he  turned  into  a  restaurant, 
and  dined  there,  simply  enough,  and  had  a  cigarette  and  a  look 
at  the  evening  papers.  Thereafter  he  strolled  back  to  his  lodg- 
ings, and  took  to  his  book,  though  his  thoughts  were  inclined 
to  wander  now  and  again. 

Twilight  had  fallen ;  but  he  did  not  light  the  gas.  Once,  for 
a  brief  second  or  two,  he  had  quietly  run  his  fingers  over  the 
keys  of  the  piano,  to  learn  if  it  were  tolerably  in  tune ;  then  the 


wamm 


^as.  Once,  for 
Qgers  over  the 
tune ;  then  the 


Hmm 


mimmu. 


■  down  Draper's 
;h  hia  leg^,  and, 
I  scratiny  acroBs 
y  had  gone  out 
^  to  look  at  the 
imed  to  Draper, 
ith  less  of  inter- 
isteniug  as  well 

brain  a  sugges- 
Clay's  Compro- 
)n  the  previous 
unsoon  violinist 
t  answer  in  the 
that — no  imper- 
sponding  to  the 
tless  and  blood* 
vas  abundantly 
including  music 
its;  a  use  had 
}dem  languages 
upon  to  speak 
een  neighbors  f 
e  was  invading 
i  friendship  or 
gulf  of  silence 

when  he  went 
music-pablish- 
on  the  express 
Lhin  one  hour, 
and  wished  to 
to  a  restaurant, 
)tte  and  a  look 
.ck  to  his  lodg- 
were  inclined 


STAND   VAST,  CHAIO-ROrSTOlTI  |t 

room  relapsed  into  silence  again.  And  was  there  to  be  silence 
on  the  other  side  as  well  I  He  waited  and  listened,  and  waited 
and  listened  in  vain.  Perhaps,  while  he  was  idling  away  his 
time  in  the  Regent  Street  restanrsnt,  they  had  come  oat  from 
the  house  and  gone  off  to  some  theatre.  The  street  was  so  still 
now  that  he  could  almost  have  heard  any  one  speaking  in  that 
room  on  the  other  side ;  but  there  was  no  sound. 

Then  his  hrrrt  leaped  and  his  brain  grew  giddy.  Here  was 
that  low-breathing  and  vibrating  wail  again ;  and  was  she  alone 
now,  in  the  gathering  darkness  f  He  recognized  the  air,  it  was 
"  Auld  Robin  Gray ;"  but  never  before  had  he  known  that  it 
was  so  beautiful  and  so  ineffably  sad  as  well.  Slowly  she  played 
and  simply ;  it  was  almost  like  a  human  voice,  only  that  the 
trembling  strings  had  a  penetrating  note  of  their  own.  And 
when  she  ceased  it  seemed  to  Lim  that  it  would  be  profanation 
to  break  in  upon  the  hushed  and  sacred  stillness. 

And  yet  was  he  not  to  answer  her  in  the  only  speech  that 
could  not  offend  ?  Was  he  to  act  the  coward  when  there  offered 
a  chance  of  his  establishing  some  subtle  link  with  her,  of  send- 
ing a  message,  of  declaring  his  presence  in  this  sure,  unobtrusive 
fashion !  Quickly  he  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and,  in  rather  a 
nervous  and  anxious  fashion,  began.  He  was  not  a  brilliant 
performer — anything  but  that ;  but  he  had  a  light  touch  and  a 
sensitive  ear,  and  he  played  with  feeling  and  grace.  It  was 
"  Kathleen  Mavoumeen  " — ^and  a  sort  of  appeal  in  its  way,  did 
she  but  remember  the  words.  He  pUyed  the  melody  over  only 
once,  slowly  and  as  sympathetically  as  he  could ;  then  he  rose 
and  retired  from  the  piano,  and  stood  in  the  darkness  listening. 

Alas!  there  was  no  response.  What  had  he  done!  He 
waited,  wondering ;  but  all  was  still  in  the  little  street.  It  was 
as  if  some  bird,  some  mellow-throated  thrush  or  nightingalo  had 
been  warbling  to  itself  in  the  dim  security  o{  the  leaves,  and 
been  suddenly  startled  and  silenced  by  an  alien  floand^  not 
knowing  What  that  might  portend. 
3 


MTAVD  rABT,  OMAIO-ROTSTOVI 


CHAPTER  in. 

AM     APPROAOB. 

Thbrb  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in  1"  called  out  old  George  Bethnne. 

There  appeared  a  middle-aged  man,  of  mediam  height,  who 
looked  like  a  butler  out  of  employment;  he  was  pale  and  flabby 
of  face,  with  nerrooa  eyes  ezpressiTe  of  a  sort  of  imbecile  amia- 
bility. 

"Ah,  Uobson!"  said  Mr.  Bethnne,  in  his  lofty  manner. 
"Welir 

The  landlady's  husband  came  forward  in  the  humblest  pos- 
sible  fashion ;  and  his  big,  prominent,  vacuous  oyos  seemed  to 
be  asking  for  a  little  consideration  and  good-will. 

« I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  he,  in  the  most  deplorable  of 
Cockney  accent,  '*I  'umbly  beg  your  pardon  for  making  "o 
bold ;  but  knowing  as  you  was  so  fond  of  everything  Scotch, 
I  took  the  liberty  of  bringing  you  a  sample  of  something  very 
special — a  friend  of  mine,  sir,  recommended  it^ — and  then  says  I 
to  him, '  Lor'  bless  ye,  I  don't  know  nothing  about  Highland 
whiskey ;  but  there's  a  gentleman  in  our  'onse  who  is  sure  to 
be  a  judge,  and  if  I  can  persuade  him  to  try  it,  he'll  bo  able  to 
say  if  it's  the  real  sort' " 

"  All  right,  Hobson,"  said  C^orge  Bethune,  in  his  grand  way. 
'*  Some  other  time  I  will  see  what  it  is  like." 

<•  Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you !"  said  the  ex-butler,  with  earnest 
gratitude ;  and  he  went  and  placed  the  bottle  on  the  sideboarJ. 
Then  he  came  back,  and  hesitatingly  took  out  an  envelope  from 
his  pocket  "  And  if  I  might  ask  another  favor,  sir.  Yon  see, 
sir,  in  this  'ot  weather  people  won't  go  to  the  theatres ;  aud 
they're  not  doing  much ;  and  my  brother-in-law,  the  theatrical 
agent,  he's  glad  to  g^t  the  places  filled  up,  to  make  a  show,  sir, 
as  you  might  say.  And  Fve  got  two  dress-circle  seats,  if  you 
and  the  young  lady  was  thinking  of  going  to  the  theatre  to- 
morrow nigh^    It's  a  great  favor,  sir,  as  my  brother-in-hiw  said 


iiWWWP 


'-'Ifc., 


iam  height,  who 
I  pale  and  flabby 
>f  imbecile  amia- 

I  lofty  manner. 

le  humblest  po»- 
eyes  seemed  to 
11. 

«t  deplorable  of 

for  making  'o 

srything  Scotch, 

liomething  very 

-and  then  says  I 

kbont  Highland 

who  is  sure  to 

te'll  be  able  to 

his  grand  way. 

er,  with  earnest 
the  sideboarJ. 
envelope  from 
sir.  Yon  see, 
theatres;  aud 
the  theatrical 

ke  a  show,  sir, 
seats,  if  yon 

<he  theatre  to- 

her-in-kw  said 


0TAMD   VAST,  ORAIO-KOTBTOM I  tS 

to  me  18  he  was  a-giving  me  the  tickets  and  anking  me  to  get 
'em  nsod." 

He  lied ;  for  there  was  no  brother-in-law  and  no  theatrical 
agent  in  the  case.  He  himself  had  that  very  afternoon  honestly 
and  straightforwardly  purchaced  the  tickets  at  the  box-office — 
as  he  had  done  on  more  than  one  occasion  before — out  of  the 
money  allowed  him  for  personal  expenses  by  his  wife ;  so  that 
he  bad  to  look  forward  to  a  severe  curtailment  of  his  gin  and 
tobacco  for  weeks  to  come. 

"Thanks — thanks!"  said  George  Bethune,  as  he  lit  his  long 
clay  pipe.  "  I  will  see  what  my  granddaughter  says  when  she 
comes  in — unless  you  would  like  to  use  the  tickets  jourself." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,  sir,"  was  the  instant  re- 
joinder. "  When  I  'ave  a  evening  out  I  go  to  the  Oxbridge 
Music-'all — perhaps  it's  vanity,  sir — but  when  Charley  Cold- 
stream gets  a  hangcoro,  I  do  like  to  hear  some  on  'em  call  ont, 
'  Says  Wolsoley,  says  he  I'  Ah,  siir,  that  was  tho  proudest  mo- 
ment of  my  life  when  I  see  Charley  Coldstream  come  on  the 
stage  and  begin  to  sing  verse  after  verse,  and  the  people  cheer- 
ing ;  and  I  owed  it  all  to  yon,  sir ;  it  was  you,  sir,  advised  me 
to  send  it  to  him — " 

"  A  catching  refrain,  a  catching  refrain,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, encouragingly.     "  Just  fitted  to  get  hold  of  the  public  ear." 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Hobson,  with  a  fatuous  little  chuckle  of  de- 
light, "  this  werry  afternoon,  as  I  was  coming  down  Park  Street, 
I  'card  a  butcher's  boy  a-singing  it — I  did  indeed,  sir — as  clear 
as  could  be  I  'card  the  words, 

" '  8»y  Wolaeley,  tmjt  he, 
To  Arabi. 
^  Toa  can  fight  other  chtpt,  but  70a  can't  fight  me.* 

Every  word  I  'eard.  Bat,  would  you  believe  it,  sir,  when  I  was 
in  the  Oxbridge  Mnsic-'all  I  coold  'ardly  listen,  I  was  so  fright- 
ened, and  my  ears  a-buzsin',  and  me  'ardly  able  to  breathe. 
Lor',  sir,  that  vku  a  experienoe  I  Nobody  looked  at  me,  and  that 
was  a  mercy — I  couldn't  ha'  stood  it-  Even  the  chairman,  as 
was  not  Eaore  than  six  yards  from  me,  'e  didn't  know  who  I 
was,  and  not  being  acquainted  with  him  I  couldn't  offer  him 
somethink,  which  I  should  have  considered  it  &  proud  honor  so 
to  do  on  sich  an  occasion.  And  if  I  might  make  so  bold,  sir — " 
He  was  fumbling  in  his  breast-pocket, 


90 


•TAin>  rAiT.  onAto-ROTnoiri 


"Whut,  mor«  verses  T  said  Mr.  Bethune,  good  •  lutartdly. 
**  Well,  let's  SCO  thorn.     But  take  a  seat,  man,  take  a  seal." 

Rather  timidly  ho  drew  a  chair  to  the  table;  and  then  he 
said,  with  appealing  eyes : 

"  But  wouldn't  you  allow  me,  sir,  to  fetch  you  a  little  drop 
of  the  whiskey ;  I  assure  you  it's  the  best  1" 

"  Oh,  very  well,  very  well,  but  bring  two  tumblers ;  single 
drinking  is  slow  work." 

In  a  few  seconds  these  two  curiously-assorted  companions — 
the  one  massive  and  strong  built,  impressive  in  manner,  meas- 
ured and  emphatic  of  speech,  the  other  feeble  and  fawning,  at 
once  eager  acd  vacuous,  his  face  over  ready  to  break  into  a 
maudlin  smile  —  were  seated  in  confabulation  together,  with 
gome  sheets  of  scribbled  paper  between. 

''And  if  you  will  excuse  my  being  so  bold,  sir,"  continued 
Hobaon,  with  great  humility, "  but  I  'ave  been  reading  the  little 
volume  of  Scotch  songs  you  lent  me,  and — and — " 

"  Trying  your  hand  at  that,  too  f ' 

"  Only  a  verse,  sir." 

Mr.  Bethuno  took  up  the  scrap  of  paper,  and  read  alond, 

" '  0  leoie  me  on  the  toddj, 

the  toddy,  , 

the  tnddji 
0  leeee  mo  on  the  toddy, 
We'll  bae  a  wiUie.waughtr» 

♦*  Well,  yes,"  he  said,  with  rather  a  doubtful  air,  "  you've  got 
the  phrases  all  right,  except  the  willie-waught,  and  that  is  a 
common  error.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  friend,  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  willio-waught.  Waught  is  a  hearty  drink ;  a 
richt  gude-willie  waught  is  a  drink  with  a  right  good  will. 
Willie-waught  is  nothing,  a  misconception,  a  printer's  blunder. 
However,  phrases  do  not  count  for  mncbv  Scotch  phrases  do 
not  make  Scotch  song.  It  is  not  the  provincial  dialect,  it  is 
the  breathing  spirit  that  is  the  life,"  and  therewith  he  repeated 
in  a  proud  manner,  as  if  to  crush  this  poor  anxious  poet  by  the 
comparison : 

"'  I  Me  her  in  the  dewy  flower, 
Sae  lovely,  sweet,  and  fair: 
I  hear  her  voice  in  ilka  bird 
Wi'  mniic  chann  the  air; 


M. 


iMrii<iK1|itHiml,imr 


iTAWD  FAIT,  oRAio-aornroNi 


•t 


good  •  iutur«dly. 
tke  «  seal." 
le;  ftnd  then  he 

ou  a  little  drop 

umblen;  single 

d  companions — 
t  manner,  moas- 
and  fawning,  at 
to  break  into  a 
together,  with 

,  sir,"  continued 
cading  the  little 


read  aload, 


lir, "  you've  got 
,  and  that  is  a 
>nd,  there  is  no 
liearty  drink;  a 
ight  good  will, 
■inter's  blonder. 
)tch  phrases  do 
ial  dialect,  it  is 
ith  he  repeated 
ons  poet  by  the 


Th«r«*i  DO  •  bonnle  flowtr  that  tpringt 

D;  fountain,  ibAw,  or  grora, 
Nor  yet  a  bonnle  bird  that  aingi, 

But  minda  ma  o'  mj  Jean.' " 

"  Bog  pardon,  Bir,  Miss  Betbnne  f"  said  IXobson,  inquiringly, 
for  he  evidently  thought  these  lines  were  of  the  old  gentleman's 
own  composition.  And  then,  as  he  received  no  answer,  for 
Mr.  Bethune  had  turned  to  his  pipe,  he  resumed,  *'  Ah,  I  see, 
sir,  1  'ave  not  boon  successful.  Too  ambitious,  too  ambitious. 
It  was  you  yourself,  sir,  as  advised  me  to  write  about  what  I 
knew ;  and — and  in  fact,  sir,  what  I  see  is  that  there  is  nothing 
like  patriotism.  Lor',  sir,  you  should  see  them  young  fellers  at 
the  Oxbridge ;  they're  as  brave  as  lions,  especially  when  they've 
'ad  a  glass  I  Talk  about  the  French  I  The  French  ain't  in  it, 
when  we've  got  our  spirit  up.  We  can  stand  a  lot,  sir,  yes,  we 
can ;  but  don't  let  them  push  us  too  far.  Not  too  far.  It  will 
be  a  bad  day  for  them  when  they  do.  An  Englishman  ain't 
given  to  boasting,  but  he's  a  terror  when  his  back's  up — and  • 
Scotchman,  too,  sir,  I  beg  pardon,  I  did  not  mean  anything — I 
intended  to  include  the  Scotchman  too,  I  assure  yon,  sir.  There's 
a  little  thing  here,  sir,"  ho  continaed  modestly,  "  that  I  should 
like  to  read  to  you,  if  I  may  make  so  bold.  I  thought  of  send- 
ing it  to  Mr.  Coldstream ;  I'm  sure  it  would  take,  for  there's 
some  fight  in  Englishmen  yet,  and  in  the  Scotchman,  too,  sir," 
he  instantly  added. 

"  A  patriotic  poem  f    Well  f" 

Thus  encouraged,  the  pleased  poet  moistened  his  lips  with 
the  whiskey-and-water  he  had  brought  for  himself,  and  began : 

" '  Where'a  the  man  would  turn  and  fly  7 
Where's  the  man  afraid  to  diet 
It  int't  you,  It  Un't  I. 
No,m]rladfl;  no,  not'" 

Then  his  voice  had  a  more  valiant  ring  in  it  still : 

"' Who  will  lead  tu  to  the  fray  r 
Who  will  sweep  the  foe  away  t 
Who  will  win  the  glorioua  day 
Of  England'a  chivalry  r" 

It  is  trne  he  said,  «'Oo  will  sweep  the  ^oe  awyef  but  these 
little  peculiarities  were  lost  in  the  fervor  cf  lia  enthusiasm. 
" '  BoberU— Graham— Buller— Wood— ' » 


IS 


•TANr    FAIT,  OKAIO-HOriTOM  I 


IIo  pmiicd  after  eaeh  namo,  u  if  listening  for  the  thnnderoai 
chcoring  of  tho  imaginary  audience : 

"  '  And  munj  •nutbar  'moat  m  good. 
They'ro  the  in«ii  to  ilied  their  blood 
For  th«lr  vountry  I' " 

Then  then  was  a  touch  of  pathos : 

••  •  far*  thee  well,  love,  and  adieu !'  •• 

But  that  was  immediately  dismissed : 

'"Fiercer  thoughta  I  liatra  than  j<m% 
We  will  drive  the  datUrd  crew 
Into  alavery  I' " 

And  then  he  stretched  forth  his  right  arm,  and  declainned  io 
loud  and  portentous  tores : 

"  •  See  the  bloody  tented  field ; 

Look,  the  foe  I  the.T  yield— they  yield  I 
Hurrah  I  hurrah  I  our  glory'a  ae^ledl 
Three  oheera  for  victory  I* " 

Suddenly  his  face  blanched ;  for  at  this  moment  the  door 
opened.  A  tall  woman  appeared,  with  astonishment  and  indig- 
nation only  too  Ie4,'ible  in  hei  angular  features. 

"  Uobson  I"  she  exclaimed  ;  and  at  this  awful  sound  the  bold 
warrior  seemed  to  collapse  iuto  a  limp  rag,  "  I  am  surprised ;  I 
am  indeed  surprised  I  Really,  sir,  how  can  you  encourage  him 
in  such  impudence  t  Seated  at  your  own  table,  and  drinking, 
too,  I  declare  I"  she  went  on,  as  she  lifted  np  the  deserted  tum- 
bler ;  for  her  bellicose  husband  had  hastily  picked  up  his  MS8. 
and  vanished  from  the  room.     "  Really,  sir,  such  familiarity  1" 

"  In  the  rapublio  of  letters,  my  good  Mrs.  Hobson,"  said  Mr. 
Bethune,  with  a  smile,  "  all  men  are  equal.  I  hare  been  mncb 
interested  in  some  of  yo.r  husband's  writings." 

"  Oh,  sir,  don't  put  sich  things  in  his  'ead,"  she  said,  as  she 
proceeded  t<>  lay  the  cloth  for  dinner.  *'  He's  a  fool,  and  that's 
bad  enough ;  but  if  so  be  as  you  put  things  in  his  'ead,  and  he 
giving  of  hisself  airs,  it'll  bo  hawf ul !  What  good  he  is  to  any- 
body, I  don't  know.  He  won't  clean  a  winder  or  black  a  boot 
even." 

"How  can  you  expect  itt"  George  Bethune  said,  in  perfect 
good-hamor.  "  Manual  labor  would  be  a  degradation.  Men  of 
gwkm  onght  to  be  supported  by  the  State." 


■TAHD    FAIT,  OMAIO-IIOYITON  I 


39 


be  thnnderoofl 


decUimed  in 


tent  the  door 
int  and  indig- 

}und  the  bold 
\  surprised ;  I 
Qcourage  him 
»nd  drinking, 
deserted  turn- 
up his  MSB. 
imiliarit)!  I" 
on,"  said  Mr. 
'6  been  much 

9  said,  as  she 
>oI,  and  that's 
I  'ead,  and  he 
he  is  to  any- 
black  a  boot 

id,  in  perfect 
ion.    Men  of 


"In  the  workus,  I  soppose,"  she  said,  sharply;  but  here 
Mainrie  Bothuno  caino  up-Htaini  and  into  the  room,  carrying 
Hoino  parcelH  in  hor  hand,  and  instantly  the  landlady's  face 
changed  itt)  (>x{)rosNion,  and  became  as  amiable  and  smiling  as 
the  gaunt  features  would  allow. 

At  dinner  the  old  man  told  his  granddaughter  that  he  had 

procured  (ho  did  not  say  how)  places  at  the Theatre  for 

the  following  evening,  and  seemed  to  bs  pleased  about  this  lit- 
tle break  in  their  quiet  lives. 

"  13ut  why  did  you  go  to  such  expense, grandfather!"  Maisrie 
said.  "  You  know  I  am  quite  happy  enough  in  spending  the 
evening  at  home  with  you.  And  every  day  now  I  ask  myself 
when  I  am  to  begin  copying  the  p  ems — for  the  volume,  you 
know.  You  have  sent  for  them  to  America,  havon't  yoa  t  Bat 
really  you  have  such  a  wonderful  memory,  grandfather,  I  believe 
you  could  repeat  them  all ;  and  I  could  write  them  down,  and 
let  the  printers  have  them.  I  was  so  glad  when  yoa  let  mo 
help  you  with  the  book  you  published  in  Montreal ;  and  you 
know  ray  writing  is  clear  enough.  You  remember  what  the 
foreman  printer  said!  Don't  you  think  we  could  begin  to- 
night, grandfather  f  It  plcasoH  yoa  to  repeat  those  beautif nl 
verses ;  you  are  so  fond  of  icm,  and  prond  of  them,  because 
tbcy  wore  written  by  ScotcUinen;  and  I  am  sure  it  would  be  a 
delight  to  me  to  write  them  out  for  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  ho  said,  fretfully,  "  but  not  to-night.  You're 
always  in  such  a  hurry,  Maisrie."  And  then  he  added,  in  a 
gentler  way :  "  Well,  it  is  a  wonderful  blessing,  a  good  memory. 
I  never  want  for  a  companion  when  I've  a  Scotch  air  or  a 
Scotch  song  humming  through  my  brain.  On  the  darkest  and 
wettest  day,  here  in  this  big  city,  what  have  you  to  do  but 
think  of 

"«The  broom,  the  yellow,  yellow  broom, 
Tbo  broom  o'  the  Ck>wd«nkr.owes,' 

and  at  once  yoa  have  before  you  golden  banks  and  meadows 
and  June  skies,  and  all  else  is  forgotten.  Indeed,  Uss,  Scotland 
has  become  for  mo  such  a  storehouse  of  beautiful  things — in 
imagination — that  I  am  almost  afraid  to  retam  to  it,  in  case  the 
reality  might  disappoint  me.  No,  no,  it  could  not  disappoint 
me ;  I  treasure  every  inch  of  the  sacred  soil.    Bat  sometimes 


i 


40 


BTAKD   VAST,  ORAIO-ROYBTON I 


I  wonder  if  yon  will  i^cognize  the  magic  and  witchery  of  hill 
and  glen.  As  for  me,  there  ia  naught  else  I  fear  now ;  tuere  are 
no  human  ties  I  shall  have  to  take  up  again ;  I  shall  not  have 
to  mourn  the  'Bourocks  o'  Bargeny.'" 

"  What  is  that,  grandfather?" 

"  If  you  had  been  brought  up  in  Scotland,  Maisrie,  you  would 
know  what  the  digging  o'  boorocks  is  among  children — play- 
houses in  the  sand.  Bat  sometimes  the  word  is  applied  to 
buta  or  cottages,  as  it  is  in  the  title  of  Hugh  Ainslie's  poem. 
That  pcem  is  one  that  I  shall  be  proud  to  give  a  place  to  in  my 
collection,"  he  continued,  with  an  air  of  importance.  "  Hugh 
Ainslie  is  no  more  with  us;  but  hia  countrymen,  whether  in 
America  or  at  home,  are  not  likely  to  forget  the  '  Bourocks  o' 
Bargeny.'" 

"Can  you  remember  it,  grandfather?"  •"  *'•  *    * 

"  Can  I  not  t"  said  he ;  and  therewith  he  repeated  the  lines, 
never  faltering  once  for  a  phrase : 

" '  I  left  ;e,  Jeanie,  blooming  fair 
'MftTig  the  bourocks  o'  Bargeny ; 
I've  found  ;e  on  the  banlcs  o'  Ayr, 
Bat  sair  ye're  altered,  Jeanie. 
■  .iyu; ,;        I  left  ye  like  the  wanton  lamb 

That  plays 'mang  Hadyed'8  heather; 
Fve  found  ye  noo  a  8oi>er  dame — 
A  wife  and  eke  a  mi  :her. 

'"I  Irft  ye  'mang  the  leav js  sae  green 

In  rustic  weed  befittin' ; 
I've  found  ye  buckit  like  a  queen 

In  painted  chaumer  sittin'. 
Ye're  fairer,  statelier,  I  can  see, 

Te're  wiser,  nae  doubt,  Jeanie ; 
But  oh,  I'd  rather  met  wi'  thee 

'Mang  the  bouroclcs  o'  Bargeny  I' " 

"  It's  very  sad,  grandfather,"  she  said,  wistfully 
"The  way  of  the  world — the  way  of  the  world,"  said  he; 
and  observing  that  she  had  finished  and  was  waiting  for  him, 
he  forthwith  rose  and  went  to  the  mantelpiece  for  his  pipe. 
"  There's  many  a  true  story  of  that  kind.  Well,  Maisrie,  you'll 
just  get  your  violin,  and  we'll  have  *  The  Broom  o'  the  Cowden- 
knowes.' "  And  while  she  went  to  fetch  the  violin,  and  as  he 
cut  his  tobacco,  he  sang,  in  a  quavering  voice — 


--•?rrffi'Hfcfri-rrli-|'i  j-itr'i'iYr''--     '■■■- 


STAND   FAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTON I 


41 


witchery  of  hill 

now ;  tucre  are 

I  shall  not  have 


lisrie,  you  would 
children — play- 
d  is  applied  to 
Ainslie's  poero. 
I  place  to  in  my 
lance.  "  Hugh 
nen,  whether  in 


)eated  the  lines, 


Br; 


'7 

vorld ,"  said  he ; 

raiting  for  him, 

ce  for  his  pipe. 

U,  Maisrie,  you'll 

o'  the  Cowden- 

riolin,  and  as  he 


" '  Oh,  the  broom,  the  bonnie,  bonnie  broom, 
The  broom  o'  the  Cowdenknowes, 
I  wish  I  were  at  hame  again 
Where  the  broom  sae  sweetly  grows.' " 

And  then  he  went  to  the  window,  to  smoko  his  pipe  hi  peace 
and  quiet,  while  Maisrie,  seated  farther  back  in  the  shadow  of 
the  room,  played  for  him  the  well-known  air.  Did  she  guess — 
and  fear — that  she  might  have  an  audience  of  more  than  one } 
At  all  events  her  doubts  were  soon  resolved;  when  sh«?  had 
ceased,  and  after  a  second  or  so  of  silence,  there  came  another 
sound  into  the  prevailing  hnsb.  It  was  one  of  the  "Songs 
without  Words,"  and  %  was  being  played  with  considerable  del- 
icacy and  charm- 

"  Hello !"  said  Mr.  Bethune,  when  he  heard  the  first  low,  rip- 
pling notes ;  "  have  we  a  musical  neighbor  low !" 

"Yes,  grandfather,"  Maisiie  replied,  ra'lijr  timidly.  "Last 
night,  when  you  were  out,  some  one  played.'' 

"Ah!  a  music-mistress,  I. dare  say.  Poor  thing! — perhaps 
all  alono,  and  wishing  to  be  friendly  in  this  sort  of  fashion." 

They  listened  without  further  speech  until  the  last  notes  had 
gradually  died  away. 

"  Now,  Maisrie,  it  is  your  turn !" 

"  Oh,  no,  grandfather !"  she  said,  hastily. 


"Whjnot!" 


"  It  would  be  like  answering — to  a  stranger." 

"  And  are  we  not  all  strangers  ?"  he  said,  gently.     "  I  thick 

it  is  a  very  pretty  idea,  if  that  is  what  is  meant.    We'll  soon 

see.    Come,  Maisrie — something  more  than  the  plashing  of  a 

•  Southern  fountain — something  with  Northern  fire  in  it.    Why 

not  *  Helen  of  Kirkoonnell '  ?" 

The  girl  was  very  obedient;  she  took  up  her  violin,  and 
presently  she  was  playing  that  strangely  simple  air  that  never- 
theless is  about  as  proud  and  passionate  and  piteous  as  the 
tragic  story  to  which  it  is  wedded.  Perhaps  the  stranger  over 
there  did  not  know  the  ballad ;  but  George  Bethune  knew  it 
only  too  well ;  and  his  voice  almost  broke  into  a  sob  as  he  said, 
when  she  had  finished, 

"  Ah,  Maisrie,  it  was  no  music-master  taught  you  that ;  it  was 
bom  in  your  nature.  Sometimes  I  wonder  if  a  capacity  for  in- 
tense sympathy  means  an  equal  capacity  for  suffering.    It  is 


^% 


H 


- 


■^. 


42 


STAHD    FAST,  ClUIO-ROTSTOirl 


^i 


8sd  if  it  shotrid  be  so ;  a  thick  akin  would  be  wholesomer,  as 
far  as  I  have  seen  the  world ;  and  few  have  seen  moro  of  it 
Well,  wbat  has  our  neighbor  to  say  t" 

Their  unseen  companion  on  the  other  side  of  the  little  thor- 
oughfare responded  with  a  waltz  of  Chopin's — a  mysterious, 
elusive  sort  of  iuing,  that  seemed  to  fade  away  in  the  dark 
rather  than  to  cease.  Maisne  appeared  disinclined  to  continue 
this  do  ut  dea  programme ;  but  her  grandfather  overruled  her, 
and  named  the  airs  for  her  to  play,  one  by  one,  in  alternation 
with  those  coming  from  the  open  window  opposite.  At  last 
she  said  she  was  tired.  It  was  time  for  the  gas  to  be  lit,  and 
the  hot  water  brought  up  for  her  grandfather's  toddy.  So  she 
closed  the  window  ard  pulled  down  the  blind,  lit  up  the  room, 
rang  the  bell  for  the  hot  water,  and  then  placidly  sat  down  to 
her  knitting,  while  her  grandfather,  brewing  himi^elf  an  unmis- 
takable gude-willie  waught,  and  lighting  another  pipe,  proceed- 
ed to  entertain  her  with  a  rambling  disquisition  upon  the  world 
at  large,  but  especially  upon  his  own  travels  and  experiences 
therein,  his  philosophical  theories,*  and  his  reminiscences  of  the 
Scotch  countryside  ballads  of  his  youth. 

That  mystic  and  enigmatic  conversation  with  their  neighbor 
over  the  way  was  not  continued  on  the  following  evening,  for 
the  old  man  and  his  granddaughter  went  to  the  theatre ;  but 
on  the  next  night  8gh.in  it  was  resumed ;  and  thereafter,  on  al- 
most every  evening,  the  two  windows  replied  to  each  other,  as 
twilight  deepened  into  dusk.  And  Maisrie  was  less  reluctant 
now — she  almost  took  this  little  concert  h  deux  as  a  matter  of 
course.  For  one  thing,  the  stranger,  whoever  he  or  she  might 
be,  did  not  seem  in  any  way  anxious  to  push  the  acquaintance* 
any  further;  no  one  ever  appeared  at  that  open  window,  nor 
had  she  ever  encountered  any  one  coming  out  as  she  stood  on 
the  doorstep  waiting  for  her  grandfather.  As  for  him,  he  still 
maintained  that  the  new  occupant  of  those  rooms  must  be  a 
woman — perhaps  some  shy  creature,  willing  to  tliink  that  she 
had  friendly  neighbors,  and  yet  afraid  to  show  henfelf.  Be- 
sides, the  music  that  camo  in  response  to  Maisrie's  Scotch  airs 
was  hardly  what  a  man  would  have  chosen.  The  stranger  over 
there  seemed  chiefly  fond  of  Mendelssohn,  Chopin,  and  Mozart, 
though  occasionally  there  was  an  excursion  into  the  volksliedcr 
domain — "  Zu  Strassburg  auf  der  Schanz,"  "  ^  ritten  drci  Rei- 


B^ 


•TAMD   VA8T,  OIUIO-ROTBTOIT I 


4a 


wholesomer,  as 
leen  moro  of  it 

f  the  little  thor- 
— a  mysterious, 
T&y  in  the  dark 
iucd  to  continne 
r  overruled  her, 
e,  in  alternation 
iposite.  At  last 
as  to  be  lit,  and 
toddy.  So  she 
lit  np  the  room, 
dly  sat  down  to 
mrjelf  an  unmis- 
iT  pipe,  proceed- 
1  upon  the  world 
and  experiences 
niscences  of  the 

li  their  neighbor 
ing  evening,  for 
ho  theatre;  but 
thereafter,  on  al- 
x>  each  other,  as 
aa  less  reluctant 
r  as  a  matter  of 
he  or  she  might 
ihe  acquaintance* 
ten  window,  nor 
as  she  stood  on 
for  him,  he  still 
)omis  must  be  a 

>  tiiink  that  she 
m  hen^elf.  Be- 
rie's  Scotch  airs 
be  stranger  over 
pin,  and  Moxart, 

>  the  volksliedcr 
i  ritten  drci  Rei- 


ter  zum  Thore  hinaus,"  "  Von  meinem  Bei^U  mass  i  scheiden," 
or  something  of  that  kind ;  whereas,  if  it  bad  been  a  man  who 
occupied  those  rooms,  surely  they  would  have  heard  during  the 
day,  for  example,  a  fine,  bold  ditty  like  "  Simon  the  Cellarer," 
"  The  Bay  of  Biscay,"  or  "  The  Friar  of  Orders  Gray,"  with  a 
strident  voice  outroaring  the  accompaniment.  Maisrie  answered 
nothing  to  these  arguments ;  but  in  spite  of  herself,  when  she 
had  to  cross  the  room  for  something  or  other,  her  eyes  would 
seek  that  mysteriously  vacant  window,  with  however  rapid  and 
circumspect  a  glance.  And  always  in  vain.  Moreover,  the 
piano  was  never  touched  during  the  day — the  stranger  invaria- 
bly waited  for  the  twilight  before  seeking  to  resume  that  subtle 
link  of  communication. 

Of  course  this  state  of  things  could  not  go  on  forever,  unless 
the  person  over  there  possessed  the  gift  of  invisibility.  One 
morning  as  Maisrie  and  her  grandfather  were  going  out  as  usual 
for  a  stroll  in  the  Park  she  went  downnstdrs  first  and  along  the 
lobby,  and  opened  the  door  to  wait  for  him.  At  the  very  same 
instant  the  door  opposite  was  opened,  and  there,  suddenly  pre- 
sented to  her  view,  was  a  young  man.  He  was  looking  straight 
across — £;bc  was  looking  straight  across — their  eyes  met  with- 
out the  slightest  chance  of  equivocation  or  denial,  and  each 
knew  that  this  was  recognition.  They  regarded  each  other  but 
for  a  swift  second,  but  as  plainly  as  possible  he  had  said  to 
her,  "  Do  you  guess  ?  Are  you  angry  ?  No,  do  not  be  angry," 
and  then  his  gUuce  was  averted,  he  shut  the  door  behind  him, 
and  slowly  proceeded  on  his  way.  Was  she  surprised!  No. 
Perhaps  she  was  startled  by  the  unexpectedness  of  the  meet- 
ing ;  perhaps  her  heart  was  beating  a  little  more  quickly  than 
usual ;  but  a  profound  instinct  had  already  told  her  that  it  was 
DO  woman  who  had  spoken  to  her  in  those  dusky  twilights, 
evening  after  evening.  A  woman  would  not  have  wrapped  her- 
self up  in  that  nlysterious  secrecy.  A  woman  who  wished  to 
inake  friends  with  her  neighbors  over  the  way  would  have  come 
to  the  window,  would  have  smiled,  would  have  made  some  ex- 
cuse for  calling.  Maisrie  did  not  ostensibly  look  after  the 
young  man,  but  she  could  see  him  all  the  same,  until  he  turned 
the  comer.  She  was  vaguely  troubled.  The  brief  glance  she 
had  met  had  in  it  a  kind  of  appeal.  And  she  wished  to  say  in 
return  that  she  was  not  offended ;  that,  being  strang«>rs,  thoy 


44 


STAND    FAST,  C'RAIO-ROYSTOin 


must  remain  strangers,  but  that  she  had  not  taken  his  boldness 
ill.  Sho  wished  to  say,  she  did  not  know  what.  Then  her 
grandfather  came  down,  and  they  went  away  together;  but  she 
uttered  not  a  syllable  as  to  what  had  just  occurred.  It  was  all 
a  bewilderment  to  her,  that  left  her  a  little  breathless  when  she 
tried  to  think  of  it 

That  night,  when  the  customary  time  arrived,  she  refused  to 
take  np  her  violin ;  and  when  her  grandfather  remonstrated  she 
had  no  definite  excuse.  She  hesitated  and  stammered,  said 
they  had  not  played  chess  for  ever  so  long,  or  would  he  rather 
have  a  game  of  draughts  ?  anything  but  the  violin. 

"  Are  you  forgetting  your  good-natured  neighbor  over  there !" 
her  grandfather  asked.  «'  It  will  be  quite  a  disappointment  for 
her.  Poor  thing  I  it  appears  to  be  the  only  society  she  ha^ ; 
we  never  hear  a  sound  othe^wi8e ;  there  seems  to  hs  no  one 
ever  come  to  talk  to  her  during;  the  (J  vy,  or  we  should  hear  a 
voice  now  and  again." 

"  Yes ;  but,  grandfather,"  sa'd  Maisrie,  who  seemed  much  em- 
barrassed, "  don't  you  think  it  a  little  imprudent  to — to  encour- 
age this  kind  of — of  answering  each  other,  without  knowing  who 
the  other  person  is  i" 

"  Why,  what  can  be  more  harmless  ?"  he  protested,  cheerfully, 
and  then  he  went  on — "  more  harmless  than  music  ?  Nothing, 
nothing  1  Song  is  the  solace  of  human  life ;  in  joy  it  is  the 
natural  expression  of  our  happiness.  In  times  of  trouble  it  re- 
freshes the  heart  with  thoughts  of  other  and  brighter  days.  A 
light  heart.,  a  heart  that  can  sing  to  itself,  that  is  the  thing  to 
carry  you  through  life,  Maisrie  1"  And  he  himself,  as  he  crossed 
the  room  to  i^itch  a  box  of  matches,  was  trolling  gayly,  with  a 
fine  bravura  execution : 

" '  The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  o'  Leith, 

Fa'  loud  the  wind  blowa  frae  the  Ferry; 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwicic  Law, 
And  I  maun  leave  my  bonnie  Mary. 

" '  Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wino, 
Aad  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie, 
That  I  may  drinic,  before  I  go, 
A  senrice  to  my  bonnie  lassie  1 

*' '  Bat  it's  no  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 
Would  make  me  longer  wish  to  tarry 


•^M 


Hpii 


en  his  boldness 
lat.  Then  her 
;etber;  bat  she 
'ed.  It  was  all 
;bles8  when  she 

she  refused  to 
monstrated  she 
tammered,  said 
trould  he  rather 
in. 

or  over  there  ?" 
ppointment  for 
>ciety  she  has ; 

to  ba  no  one 
I  should  hear  a 

)med  much  em- 
to — to  encour- 
t  Iniuwing  who 

ited,  cheerfully, 
sic  ?  Nothing, 
n  joy  it  is  the 
)f  trouble  it  re- 
jhter  days.  A 
is  the  thing  to 
f,  as  he  crossed 
?  gayly.  with  a 


75 


STAND   F^ST,  OlUIGhllCTSTOiri  4W 

Nor  shoutt  o'  war  that's  beard  afar — 
It's  leaTing  thee,  my  bonnie  Mary  I' " 

Maisrio  was  not  to  be  moved ;  but  she'  appeared  downhearted 
a  little.  As  time  went  on  the  silence  in  the  little  street  seemed 
somehow  to  accuse  her ;  she  knew  she  was  responsible.  She 
was  playing  draughts  with  her  grandfather,  in  a  perfunctory 
sort  of  way.  She  remembered  that  glance  of  appeal — she  could 
not  forget  it — and  this  had  been  her  answer.  Then  all  of  a  sud- 
den her  hand  that  hovered  over  the  board  trembled,  and  she  had 
almost  dropped  the  piece  that  was  in  her  fingers,  for  there  had 
sprung  into  the  stillness  a  half-hushed  sound ;  it  was  an  air  she 
knew  well  enough — she  could  almost  recognize  the  words : 

" '  Nachygall,  Ich  h5r'  dioh  eingen ; 
S'Hent  thut  mir  im  Leibe  springen, 
Komm  nur  bald  und  sag  mir's  wohl, 
Wie  ich  mich  verhalten  soil.' " 

Her  grandfather  stopped  the  game  to  listen,  and  when  the 
soft-toned  melody  had  ceased,  he  sdd : 

"  There,  now,  Maisrie,  that  is  an  invitation :  you  must  an- 
swer." 

"  No,  no,  grandfather,"  she  said,  almost  in  distress.  "  I 
would  rather  not.  You  don't  know — you  must  find  out  some- 
thing about — about  whoever  it  is  that  plays.  I  am  sure  it  will 
be  better.'  Of  course  it  is  quite  harmless,  as  you  say.  Oh,  yes, 
quite  harmless ;  but  I  should  like  you  to  get  to  know  first.  Quite 
harmless,  of  course,  but  I  am  frightened — about  a  stranger ;  not 
frightened,  of  course — but— don't  ask  me,  grandfather !" 

Well,  it  was  not  of  much  concern  to  him,  and,  as  he  was  win- 
ning all  along  the  line,  he  willingly  returned  to  the  game.  It 
had  grown  so  dark,  however,  that  Maisrie  had  to  go  and  light 
the  gas,  having  drawn  down  the  blinds  first,  as  was  her  invari- 
able habit.  When  she  came  back  to  the  table  she  seemed  to 
breathe  more  freely,  though  she  was  thoughtful  and  preoccupied 
— not  with  the  game.  The  music  on  the  other  side  of  the  way 
was  not  resumed  that  evening,  as  far  as  they  could  hear. 

Several  days  passed ;  and  each  evening  now  was  silent.  Mais- 
rie saw  nothing  more  of  the  young  man ;  indeed,  she  studiously 
refrained  from  glancing  across  to  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
except  when  she  was  going  oat,  and  wanted  to  make  sure  there 


49 


CTAKO   VAST,  CKAtO-ROTBTOir  t 


was  no  one  there.  But  something  was  now  about  to  happen 
that  entirely  altered  this  disposition  of  affairs. 

One  morning  Ooorge  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter  had 
gone  for  their  accustomed  stroll  in  Uyde  Park,  and  in  course  of 
time  had  taken  their  places  on  a  bench  near  the  Serpentine, 
while  the  old  man  had  palled  out  a  newspaper  and  began  to 
read  it  The  day  was  sultry,  despite  an  occasional  stirring  of 
wind ;  and  Maisrie,  titting  there,  and  having  nothing  to  do  but 
look  at  the  water,  and  the  trees,  and  the  sky,  observed  that  ail 
the  world  around  them  was  gradually  growing  darker.  In  the 
south,  especially,  the  heavens  were  of  a  curious  metallic  hue — a 
livid  gray,  as  it  were;  while  across  that  hung  two  horisontal 
belts  of  deepest  purple  that  remained  motionless,  while  other 
and  lighter  tags  of  vapor  were  intertwisting  with  each  other  or 
melting  away  into  nothingness.  These  two  clouds  were  not  of 
the  usual  cloud  form  at  all — they  were  rather  like  two  enormous 
torpedoes  lying  one  above  the  other;  and  there  was  a  sombre 
deadness  of  hue  about  them  that  looked  ominous.  Suddenly,  as 
she  was  thus  vaguely  regarding  those  long  purple  swathes,  there 
ran  across  them — spnnging  vertically  upwards — a  quivering  line 
of  yeHow  flame — so  thin  it  was,  it  appeared  like  a  thread  of 
golden  wire — and  when  that  had  vanished,  there  was  a  second 
or  two  of  silence,  followed  by  a  dull,  low,  rumbling  noise  that 
seemed  to  come  from  a  considerable  distance.  She  was  not 
much  alarmed.  There  were  no  signs  of  a  terrific  thunderstorm ; 
probably  a  few  more  flashes  would  serve  to  loosen  and  disperse 
those  lowering  clouds,  and  allow  the  day  to  clear. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  a  young  man  came  up  and  ad- 
dressed Mr.  Bothune — with  a  certain  courteous  hesitation,  and 
yet  in  frank  and  ingenuous  tones. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  he, "  but  may  I  cl-Jm  the  priv- 
ilege of  a  neighbor  to  offer  you  this  umbrella  ?  I'm  afraid  there's 
a  shower  coming,  and  the  young  lady  may  get  wet." 

It  was  a  pleasant  voice ;  George  Bethune  looked  up  well  dis- 
posed towards  the  stranger,  whoever  he  might  be.  And  the 
face  of  the  young  man  was  also  prepossessing;  it  was  something 
more  than  handsome :  it  was  intelligent  and  refined ;  and  the 
honest  and  straightforward  eyes  had  a  certain  confidence  in 
them,  as  if  they  were  not  used  to  having  their  friendly  advances 
repulsed. 


^TAND   PAST,  CHAIO-ROYWOM  ' 


41 


abont  to  happen 

anddaughter  had 
,  and  in  coarse  of 
■  the  Serpentine, 
ler  and  began  to 
Bional  stirring  of 
tothing  to  do  bnt 
observed  that  all 
'  darker.     In  the 

metallic  hue — ^a 
;  two  horizontal 
iless,  while  other 
th  each  other  or 
>ud8  were  net  of 
Ice  two  enormoas 
re  was  a  sombre 
IS.    Suddenly,  as 
le  swathes,  there 
-a  qaivering  line 
ike  a  thread  of 
re  was  a  second 
bling  noise  that 
'.    She  was  not 
c  thunderstorm ; 
icn  and  diBperse 
r. 
ame  up  and  ad- 

hesltation,  and 

[  cltiim  the  priv- 
'm  afraid  there's 
ret." 

ced  up  well  dis- 
t  be.  And  the 
t  was  something 
ifined;  and  the 
1  confidence  in 
iendlj  advances 


"  I  thank  you—I  thank  you,"  said  George  Bethune  with  much 
dignity.  "  I  had  not  observed.  But  you  will  want  the  nrabrella 
for  yourself ;  we  can  get  shelter  under  one  of  the  trees." 

<*  Would  that  be  wise,  sir,  in  a  thunderstorm  I"  said  the  young 
man.  "  Oh,  no,  let  me  give  you  the  umbrella,  I  don't  mind  a 
shower ;  ard  it  won't  be  more  than  that,  I  fancy." 

Gteorge  Bethune  accepted  the  proffered  courtesy. 

"  Here,  Maisrie,  since  this  young  gentleman  is  so  kind ;  you^d 
better  be  prepared.    A  neighbor  did  you  jay,  sir  ?"  he  continued. 

"  A  very  near  neighbor,"  answered  the  young  man,  with  a 
smile,  and  he  seated  himself  by  the  side  of  Mr.  Bethune  with 
out  more  ado.  "  I  have  often  thought  of  speaking  to  you,  and 
asking  to  be  allowed  to  make  your  acquaintance ;  for  you  seem 
to  have  very  few  visitors — you  will  pardon  my  curiosity — while 
I  have  none  at  all." 

"  Oh,  really,  really,"  the  old  man  said,  somewhat  vaguely ; 
perhaps  he  was  wondering  how  so  faultlessly-attired  a  young 
gentleman  (his  patent-leather  boots,  for  example,  were  of  the 
most  approved  pattern)  should  have  chosen  lodgings  in  so  hum- 
ble a  thoroughfare. 

"  It  is  a  very  quiet  little  comer,  is  it  not  f  the  young  man 
said — almost  as  if  answering  that  unspoken  question.  "  That 
is  why  it  suits  me  so  well ;  I  can  get  on  with  my  books  without 
interruption.  The  street  is  so  small  that  it  isn't  worth  an  organ- 
grinder's  while  to  wqste  time  in  it." 

"  Music  is  a  sad  thing  for  interrupting  study ;  I  know  that," 
the  old  gentleman  observed.  "  By  the  way,  I  hope  we  do  not 
disturb  you — my  granddaughter  plays  the  violin  sometimes." 

"  I  could  listen  to  that  kind  of  music  all  day  long,"  was  the 
re!?ponse.  "  I  never  heard  such  violin-playing — most  beautiful  t 
— most-  beautiful !" 

"  Then  you  are  not  far  away  from  us  ?" 

"  Right  opposite,"  was  the  straightforward  answer. 

George  Bcihune  glanced  at  the  young  man  with  a  look  of 
quiet  amusement ;  he  was  thinking  of  the  pale  music-mistress — 
the  Solitary  widow  of  his  imagination. 

"  And  you — ^you  also  play  a  little  in  the  evenings  sometimes  ?" 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  think  it  rude,  sir,"  the  young  man  said, 
humbly.     "  I  thought  it  permissible,  as  between  neighbors." 

"  Oh,  they  were  pretty  little  concerts,"  said  George  Bethune, 


'"> 


46 


8TAHD    FABT,  OKAIO-ROYBTOiri, 


K  « 


good-natoredly.  "  Very  pietty  littic  ooncertH.  I  donH  know 
why  they  were  stopped.  I  iiuj>pose  Maisrie  had  some  faocy 
about  them — my  granddaughter  MaUrie." 

It  was  a  kind  of  introduction.  The  young  man,  modestly 
veiling  the  quick  flash  of  delight  in  his  eyes  at  this  unexpected 
happiness,  respectfully  bowed.  Maisrio,  with  her  beautiful  pale 
face  suffused  with  unusual  color,  made  some  brief  inclination 
also;  thee  she  seemed  to  retire  again  from  this  conversation, 
though  she  could  not  but  overhear. 

'*  My  name  is  Harris,"  the  young  m"**  said,  as  though  these 
ontdences  were  ail  ss  a  matte  of  course  between  neighbcra. 
"  It  isn't  a  very  distinguished  name ;  but  one  has  to  take  what 
is  given  ono.     It  is  not  of  much  co  isequeuce." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  the  older  man  rejoined,  some- 
what  ocntcntiously.  "  A  good  name  is  a  good  thing ;  it  is  an 
honor  not  to  bo  purchased.  It  may  be  the  only  one  of  your 
pcsf>'}B9)on8  remaining  to  you ;  but  of  that  they  cannot  ro^  you." 

"  Oh,  of  coarse,  of  course,"  Vincent  said,  quickly,  for  he  per- 
ceivcl  the  laistake  he  had  made.  "  An  old  historic  name  is 
certainly  something  to  be  proud  of.  By  the  way,  sir,  did  yonr 
family  odginally  tfike  their  name  from  Bethon  on  the  Sarthe,  or 
from  Bcthune,  in  the  Department  of  Calais  t" 

"  Bethune — Bethune,"  said  the  old  mau,  who  appeared  to  be 
pleased  by  this  question,  which  spoke  of  previous  inquiries ;  and 
theu  he  added,  with  a  lofty  air,  "  The  Due  do  Sully,  Marquis  de 
Rosny,  Sovereign  Prince  of  Enrichomont  and  Bois-bel,  Grand 
Master  of  the  Artillery  and  Marshal  of  Franco,  was  Maximilicn 
de  Bethune — Maximilicn  dc  Bethune." 

"  Oh,  really  1"  said  the  young  man,  who  seemed  much  im- 
pressed. 

"The  name,"  continued  old  George  Bethune,  in  the  same 
oracular  i^ein,  "  was  often  spelled  Beaton  and  Beton — especially 
m  ScoUaad,  as  everybody  knows.  Whether  James,  Archbishop 
of  Glaag  jw,  and  his  nephew  David,  Archbishop  of  St.  Andrews, 
bad  any  immediate  relationship  with  France — beyond  that  Davici 
was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Miropoiz  vrhen  '■  s  was  negotiating 
the  murriage  of  James  '' ".  at  the  French  cf*u^  — I  ^ lunot  at  thi; 
moitienf  prcciFely  nay ;  out  of  this  ther  j  can  be  no  aoubt — ^that 
froui  Bethune  in  ths  North  came  the  ori^nal  territorial  desig- 
natioQ  of  the  family,  not  from  Bc-thon  in  the  West.     Maxiuilien 


(■jyHll^y  ■  II  MKPB  ■> 


■TAMB   rA»t,  dUIO-EOTITOR  I 


4» 


I.  I  don't  know 
had  some  fancy 

g  man,  modestly 
t  thiB  unexpected 
]er  beautiful  pale 
brief  inclination 
his  conversation, 

as  though  these 
tween  neighbcra. 
has  to  take  what 

Q  rejoined,  some- 
i  thing;  it  is  an 
anly  one  of  youf 
cannot  rob  you." 
ickly,  for  he  per- 
historic  name  is 
ray,  sir,  did  yonr 
on  the  Sarthe,  or 

0  appea?ed  to  be 
is  inquiries ;  and 
lully,  Mnrqnis  de 
Bois-bel,  Grand 
,  was  Maximilien 

semed  much  im- 

ne,  in  the  same 
{eton — especially 
imes,  Archbishop 
>  of  St.  Andrews, 
ryond  that  David 
was  negotiating 
—I  '•innot  at  thu 
8  no  auubt — ^that 
territorial  desig- 
est.    Maxiuilien 


do  Bethace—Bfltlinnr  'ji  tho  Department  of  the  Straits  of  Ca- 
lais." 

"  Oh,  really  I"  the  young  man  said  again,  qutto  humbly. 

Now,  by  this  timo  it  had  become  manifest  that  there  was  to 
be  no  thunderstorm  at  all.  Tliere  had  been  a  fow  more  of  those 
quivering  strokes  of  yellow  fire  (that  dwell  longer  on  tie  retina 
than  in  the  clouds)  accompanied  by  some  distant  mutterin  jfs  and 
rumblings;  and  at  one  point  it  seemed  as  if  the  dreaded  shower 
wore  coming  on ;  but  all  passed  off  gradually  and  quietly ;  the 
Hky  slowly  brightened,  a  pale  sunshine  began  hero  and  there  to 
touch  the  greensward  and  the  shivering  elms.  This  young  man 
had  no  excuse  for  remaining  here;  but  ho  seemed  to  forget 
He  was  so  busy  talking,  and  talking  in  a  very  pleased  aud  half- 
excited  fashion,  with  an  occasional  glance  across  at  the  young 
lady. 

"  Grandfather,"  said  Maisrie  Bethnno,  presently,  handing  him 
the  umbrelU  as  a  sort  of  hint. 

But  even  when  Vincent  received  his  property  back,  ho  ap- 
pcared  to  take  no  heed.  Ha  had  observed  that  the  newspaper 
lying  on  the  old  man's  knee  waa  the  Toronto  Globe.  He  drew 
attention  to  the  circnmstanoe,  and  now  all  his  conversation  was  of 
Queen's  Park,  Lake  Ontario,  of  King  Street,  Queen  Street,  Church 
Street,  of  the  Exhibition  Grounds,  of  Park  Ldand,  and  Block 
House  Bay,  and  the  Koyal  Canadian  Yacht  Club.  So  he  had  been 
there  too  t  Oh,  yes,  he  had  been  all  over  Canada  and  America. 
He  was  as  famiiiar  with  Idaho  as  with  Brooklyn.  He  had  fished 
in  the  Adirondacks  and  shot  mountain  sheep  in  the  Bookies. 

"  You  have  been  to  Omaha,  then  f  the  old  man  aekod. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course." 

"  For  my  granddaughter  hero,"  he  continued,  with  a  smile, 
'<  is  an  Omaha  girl." 

"  Oh,  indeed  I"  said  Vincent,  rather  breathlessly,  and  again 
he  ventured  to  look  across  to  Maisrie  Bcthune  and  her  downcast 
eyes. 

"Yes,  but  only  by  the  accident  of  birth,"  said  George  Be- 
thune,  instantly,  as  if  be  must  needs  guard  against  any  misappre- 
hension. "  Every  dro^t  of  blood  in  her  veins  is  Scotch,  and  of 
a  right  good  quality  too.  VTell,  yen  have  heard,  yon  have  heard. 
Do  you  think  any  one  could  understand  those  old  Scotch  airs 
who  waa  not  herself  Scotch  in  heart  and  soul  f" 
4 


Dd 


ftO 


STAND  Fast,  OKAIO-lloySTOII  i 


"  I  never  heard  anything  ao  beautiful,"  the  young  man  an- 
swered in  an  undertone ;  indeed,  ho  seemed  hardly  capable  of  , 
talking  about  her  any  more  than  he  could  fix  his  eyes  steadily 
on  her  face.  Ilis  forced  glances  were  timorous  and  fugitive. 
There  was  something  sacred  that  kept  him  at  a  distance.  It 
was  enough  to  be  conscious  that  she  was  there ;  his  only  prayer 
was  that  she  should  remain,  that  he  and  she  should  be  together, 
if  a  little  way  apart,  looking  at  the  same  skies  and  water  and 
trees,  breathing  the  same  air,  barkening  to  the  same  sounds.  So 
he  kept  on  talking  to  the  old  man  in  rather  a  nervous  and  eager 
fsshion,  fearful  all  the  time  that  either  of  them  should  propose 
to  go. 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  Vincent  Harris  seemed  to  have  a 
good  deal  to  say  for  himself ;  he  appeared  to  forget  that  he  was 
speaking  to  two  strangers;  rather  he  was  chatting  with  two 
neighbors,  whom  he  wished  to  be  his  friends.  And  the  old 
man,  in  his  self-suiBcient  and  dignified  way,  was  quite  content 
to  encourage  this  new  acquaintance.  His  conversation  was 
something  to  pass  the  time  withal ;  he  was  modest,  well-man- 
nered, intelligent;  there  was  an  air  of  distinction  about  him 
that  showed  good  upbringing  as  well  as  some  decision  of  char- 
acter. No  doubt  he  was  of  a  wealthy  family,  or  he  <>x>ald  not 
have  spent  so  much  of  his  tine  in  travel.  By  aconient  he  had 
mentioned  one  or  two  well-known  people  as  though  he  were  in 
^he  habit  of  familiarly  meeting  with  them.  From  some  passing 
hint  as  to  the  nature  of  his  stcdies,  Mr.  Bethune  gathered  that 
this  pleasant-spoken,  pleasant-smiling  neighbor  was  destined  for 
a  public  career.  There  was  even  something  interesting,  to  one 
who  had  grown  old  and  callous  of  the  world's  shows,  in  noting 
the  bright  enthusiasm  of  the  young  man,  the  clear  light  in  his 
eyes,  tho  general  air  of  strength  and  ease  and  courage  that  sat 
lightly  on  him,  as  befitting  one  who  was  in  the  very  May-mom 
of  his  youth. 

But  at  last,  for  shame's  sake,  Vincent  had  himself  to  rise 
and  break  up  this  all-too-attractive  companionship.  Ho  said, 
with  great  humility : 

"  I  am  sore  I  ought  to  apologize  to  Miss  Bcthnue  for  having 
taken  up  so  much  of  your  time.  Rather  an  unwarrantable  in- 
trusion ;  but  I  don't  think  there  is  any  chance  of  the  rain  com- 
ing now,  and-«-and  so  I  will  say  good-bye." 


young  man  an- 
irdly  rapable  of  , 
da  eyea  atoadily 
18  and  fugitive. 

a  diatance.     It 

hia  only  prayer 
uld  bo  together, 
I  and  water  and 
ime  sounds.  So 
irvous  and  eager 

should  propose 

leemed  to  hare  a 
Tget  that  he  was 
Rtting  with  two 
I.  And  the  old 
as  quite  content 
onversation  was 
lodest,  well-man- 
ction  about  him 
decision  of  chair- 
or  he  'wuld  not 
accMlent  he  had 
ongh  he  were  in 
>m  some  passing 
le  gathered  that 
was  destined  for 
teresting,  to  one 
shows,  in  noting 

ear  light  in  his 
courage  that  sat 

very  May-mom 

himself  to  rise 
iship.     lie  said, 

luue  for  having 
nwarrantable  in- 
[>f  the  rain  com< 


■TAITD   VAST,  OBAI«-BOTIT01I  I  '     R 

"  Oood-bye ;  glad  to  have  made  yonr  acquaintanea,"  said  old 
Oeo^  Bethuoe,  with  a  grave  courtesy. 

And  Maisrie  made  him  a  little  bow,  for  he  waa  looking  at  her 
rather  supplicatingly,  as  he  raised  his  hat  and  withdrew.  Their 
eyes  had  mot  once  more ;  she  could  not  well  have  avoided  that. 
And  of  course  she  saw  him  as  ho  walked  away  southwards, 
across  the  bridge,  until  he  disappeared. 

'*  A  very  agreeable  young  man,  that,"  said  Mr.  Bethune,  with 
decision,  as  he  rose  to  his  fo«t  and  intimated  to  his  grand- 
daughter that  they  had  better  set  forth  again.  '*  Frank  in  man- 
ner, gentle,  courteous,  intelligent,  too— very  different  from  most 
of  the  young  men  of  the  day." 

Ills  granddaughter  was  silent  as  she  walked  by  his  side. 

"  What  t  don't  you  think  so,  Maisrie  t"  he  said,  with  a  touch 
of  impatience,  for  he  was  used  to  her  assent. 

"  I  think,"  she  answered,  a  little  proudly,  "  that  he  showed  a 
good  deal  of  confidence  in  coming  to  speak  to  you  without 
knowing  you ;  and  as  for  his  playing  those  airs  in  the  evening, 
and  in  such  a  way — well,  I  don't  like  to  use  the  word  imperti- 
nence— but  still — " 

lie  was  surprised ;  perhaps  a  trifle  vexed. 

"  Impertinence !  Nonsense,  nonsense  1  Frankness  and  neigh- 
borliness,  that  was  all ;  no  intmsicn,  none — a  more  modest  young 
man  I  have  never  met.  And  as  for  his  coming  up  to  speak  to 
mc — why,  bloHs  my  life  I  that  merely  shows  the  humanising  ef- 
fects of  travel.  It  is  like  people  meeting  at  table  tTkAit, ;  and 
what  is  the  world  but  a  big  table  tTHAte,  where  you  speak  with 
your  neighbor  for  a  little  while,  and  go  your  way  and  forget 
him  f  Confidence  t  impertinence !  Nonsense  I  He  was  natural, 
unaffected,  outspoken,  as  a  young  man  should  be;  in  fact,  I 
found  myself  on  such  friendly  terms  with  him  that  I  forgot  to 
thank  him  for  the  little  service  he  did  as — did  yon,  I  should 
say.  Bashfulnesa,  Maisrie,"  he  continued,  in  his  more  senten- 
tious manner — "  bashfnlney  and  stiffneaa  are  among  the  worst 
characteristics  of  the  nntravelled  and  untaught.  Who  are  we — 
whatever  may  be  our  lineage  and  pride  of  birth — ^that  we  should 
fence  ourselves  round  with  a  palisade  of  suspicion  or  disdain  t" 

And  thus  he  went  on ;  but  he  met  with  no  response.  And  be 
did  not  like  it;  he  grew  all  the  more  emphatic  about  this  yonng 
man,  and  even  hinted  that  women  were  curiously  perverse  oreat- 


_  ^fiih'"'iiiil>^iVii>i'ifi[i  •    • 


:-  "s^i. 


•t 


•TAirD   FAtT,  OBAIO-aOTfTOirt 


ares,  who  evinced  no  toleration  or  ajnipathj  or  good-natnre  in 
their  judgment  of  their  fellow*boingfl.  What  wm  hor  objec- 
tion t  To  hie  appearance  f — ho  was  rcmarlcably  good-looking 
•nd  refined  in  aspect,  without  «  trace  of  effetninacj.  To  hU 
manner  t — he  was  almost  humble  in  his  aniiety  to  please.  To 
his  talk  ? — but  ho  had  shown  himself  most  bright,  good-humored, 
alert,  and  well-informed. 

"  lie  had  no  right  to  come  up  and  speak  to  yon,  grandfather," 
was  all  she  would  say,  and  that  with  a  quite  unusual  firmness. 

In  the  oTening,  after  diMtcr,  when  the  time  came  at  which 
Maisrie  was  accustomed  to  take  np  her  riolin,  there  was  obvi- 
ously a  little  ombarratismont.  But  George  Bethune  tried  to 
break  through  that  by  a  forced  display  of  geniality. 

"  Come,  now,  Maisrio,"  said  ho,  in  a  gay  fashion,  "  our  neigh- 
bor over  the  way  was  straightforward  enough  to  corao  up  aud 
offer  us  his  hand ;  and  we  must  return  the  compliment.  One 
good  turn  deserves  another.  Get  your  violin,  and  play  somA- 
thing — he  will  undentand  " 

'<  Ghrandfather,  how  can  yon  ask  meF'  she  said,  almost  in- 
dignantly ;  and  there  was  that  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  that  for- 
bad?  him  to  press  her  further. 

But  perhaps  the  universal  stillness  that  prevailed  theraaftor 
conveyed  some  kind  of  reproach  to  her ;  or  perhaps  her  heart 
softened  a  little ;  at  all  events,  she  presently  said,  in  a  rather  low 
voice,  and  with  a  diflSdent  manner, 

"  Grandfather,  if  yon — if  you  really  think  the  young  g^entle- 
man  wished  to  be  kind  and  obliging — and — and  if  you  would 
like  to  show  him  some  little  politeness  in  return— oouluin't  yon 
step  across  the  way — ^and— and  see  him,  find  talk  to  him  for  a 
few  minutes  t  Perhaps  he  would  be  glad  of  that,  if  he  is  quite 
alone." 

**  A  capital  idea,  Maisrie,"  the  old  man  said,  rising  at  once — 
"  a  capital  idea."  And  then  he  added,  with  an  air  of  lofty  com- 
placency and  condescension,  as  he  selected  a  couple  of  volumes 
from  a  heap  of  books  on  the  sideboard,  "  Perhaps  I  might  as 
well  take  over  the  "  M^m^  ires  "  with  me ;  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely 
he  may  wish  to  know  soi  thing  further  about  Maximilien  de  Be- 
thune. I  am  not  surprised — ^not  at  all  surprised — that  a  young 
man  call«d  Harris  should  perceive  that  there  is  scmething  in  the 
grandeur  of  an  old  historical  name." 


Mipinnitpiini 


■TAVD  VAft,  OKAIO-ROTITOVI 


or  good-Mtara  in 
It  WM  hor  objee- 
ibly  good-looking 
etninacj.  To  hit 
ity  to  ploue.  To 
ht,  good-humored, 

jron,  grandfather," 
nnsual  firmneaa. 
10  camfl  at  which 
n,  there  waa  obri- 
Bethune  tried  to 
iality. 

ihion, "  our  neigh- 
li  to  come  up  and 
iompliment.  One 
I,  and  pUy  somA- 

B  aaid,  almoat  in- 
ber  voice  that  for- 

erailed  thereafter 
perhapa  her  heart 
id,  in  a  rather  low 

the  yoang  gentle- 
and  if  you  would 
irn — couldn't  you 
talk  to  him  for  a 
hat,  if  he  ia  quite 

,  riaing  at  once — 
air  of  lofty  com- 
ouple  of  volumes 
rhapa  I  might  as 
not  at  all  unlikely 
kfaximilien  de  Be- 
d — that  a  young 
something  in  the 


CHAPTER  17. 

■TALLID  OX  AND  A  DINNia  OF   HIRSa. 

But  on  this  particular  evening,  as  it  happened,  Vincent  had 
promised  to  dine  at  home ;  for  hia  aunt  waa  returning  to  Brighton 
on  the  followinf;  day,  and  there  waa  to  be  a  little  farewell  ban- 
quet given  in  hor  honor.  Of  course  aunt  and  nephew  sat  to- 
gether— Mrs.  Ellison  had  arranged  that ;  knowing  that  at  these 
semi-political  dinner-parties  the  company  was  frequently  a  trifle 
niixud,  she  took  care  that  on  one  side  at  least  she  should  have  a 
pleasant  neighbor.  And,  indeed,  when  the  guests  had  taken 
their  places— there  were  about  thirty  in  all— the  Ubie  presented 
a  pretty  sight.  From  end  to  end  it  waa  a  maaa  of  flowers ;  at 
intervals  there  were  pyramids  of  ice,  draped  with  roses,  blnsh- 
rcd  and  yellow ;  but  the  candlea  in  the  tall  candelabra  were  not 
iitr— the  softly-tinted  globes  of  the  electric  light  shed  a  suflicient 
and  diffused  lustre.  It  was  a  aumptuous  entertainment,  and  yet 
there  prevailed  an  air  of  elegance  and  refinement  When  soup 
was  served  it  was  not  the  aldermanio  turtle,  but  a  clear  golden 
duid,  with  gema  of  crimson  and  green,  and  it  waa  handed  rcond 
in  silver  dishes.  No  one  thought  of  a  thick  soup  on  this  hot 
June  night 

As  soon  aa  the  hum  of  conversation  became  general  the  tall 
and  handsome  young  widow  turned  to  her  companion — who  waa 
only  a  year  or  two  her  junior,  by  the  way— and  with  her  demure 
and  mischievous  eyes  grown  full  of  meaning  she  said : 

"  Vin,  what  has  happened  to  you  to-day  t" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  aunt!"  he  answered,  with  some  surprise. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  you  to-day,"  she  went  on,  confi- 
dently. "  Yon  can't  hoodwink  me.  Why  have  you  been  »o 
radiant,  so  complaisant,  this  afternoon  f  why  are  you  here,  for 
example,  when  you  haven't  shown  up  at  this  dinner-table  for 
weeks  past  f" 

"  And  you  going  away  to-morrow,  aunt  P'  he  exclaimed. 

"  No  nse,  Yin.   All  of  a  radden  yon  want  to  be  magnanimooa 


•;-i 


J 


54 


STAND  FABT,   0KAI0-R0T8T0NI 


to  tho  whole  human  race ;  your  amiability  becomes  almost  bur- 
densome ;  your  eyes  nre  full  of  pride  and  joy ;  and  >oa  think 
you  can  hide  the  transformation  from  ma  1  Well,  then,  I  will 
tell  you,  since  you  won't  tell  me :  to-day  you  were  introduced 
to  her." 

He  was  stiirtled,  and  no  wonder.  Had  his  aunt,  by  somo 
extraordinary  chance,  witnessed  that  interview  in  Hyde  Park? 
Mrs.  Ellison's  shrewd,  quick  eyes  noticed  his  alarm,  and 
laughed. 

"  Tho  story  is  as  clear  as  noonday,"  she  continued,  in  the  same 
undertone.  '*  Yon  come  home  every  night  between  nine  and  ten. 
Why  ?  Because  she  is  an  actress,  playing  in  the  nrst  piece  only ; 
and  of  course  tb  e  theatre  loses  its  attraction  for  you  the  moment 
she  has  left.  Now,  my  dear  Vin,  that  is  not  the  kind  of  thing 
for  you  at  all !  I'ou'd  better  stop  it,  even  although  yon  have  ex- 
perienced the  wild  joy  of  being  introduced  to  her.  What  do 
you  know  about  her  ?  You  have  been  investing  her  with  all  tbb 
charming  qualities  of  her  stage  heroines ;  you  haven't  learned  yet 
that  she  is  a  little  slatternly  in  her  dress,  that  her  tastes  in  eat- 
ing and  drinking  are  rather  coarse,  that  her  tastes  in  literature 
and  art  aren't  any ;  worse  still,  that  she  is  already  provided  with 
a  husband,  a  lounger  about  Strand  public-bouses,  only  too  ready 
to  accept  your  patronage  and  the  price  of  a  glass  of  gin — " 

He  was  immensely  relieved. 

"  Oh,  you're  all  wrong,  aunt '"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "  I  haven't 
been  insids  a  tbeafre  for  six  mouths." 

"You  haven'*^.?''  she  said,  glancing  ai  him  with  a  kind  of 
amused  suspicion.  "  You  are  really  playing  the  good  boy  with 
Parliamentary  reports  and  Blue-books  ?  A  very  admirable  dili- 
gence. Other  young  meu  would  be  strolling  in  the  Park  in  this 
hot  weather."  And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  asked  :  "  What 
subject  were  you  studying  to  day,  Vin !" 

"Thompson's  ' Dist..bution  of  Wealth,'"  he  made  answer 
with  equal  promptitude. 

"  Oh  !    What  docS  he  say  ?" 

"  You  don't  want  to  know,  aunt  I" 

"  Yes,  I  do  ;  I'm  used  to  hearing  all  sorts  of  theories  at  this 
table,  though  I  seldom  see  them  put  in  practice." 

Well,  he  on  his  side  was  glad  enough  to  get  away  from  that 
other  and  dangerous  topic ;  and  whether  or  not  be  believed  in  her 


4«<mmMm-^'- 


■icinrwi  irmmm 


BTAND   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTHTOM I 


05 


somes  almost  bnr- 
7  ;  and  ;yoa  think 
Well,  then,  I  will 
I  vere  introduced 

lis  aunt,  by  some 

w  in  Hyde  Park? 

his  alarm,   and 

inued,  in  the  same 
irecn  nice  and  ten. 
le  first  piece  only ; 
>r  you  the  moment 
the  kind  of  thing 
ough  you  have  ex- 
o  her.  What  do 
ig  her  with  all  the 
laven't  learned  yet 
her  tastes  in  eat- 
astes  in  literature 
ady  provided  with 
*8,  only  too  ready 
ass  of  gin — " 

•fully.    "I haven't 

a  with  a  kind  of 
lie  good  boy  with 
ry  admirable  dili- 
n  the  Park  in  this 
e  asked  :  "  What 

he  made  answer 


)f  theories  at  this 

le." 

t  away  from  that 

he  believed  ia  hor 


innocent  desire  for  knowledge,  he  began  to  discourse  on  the  pos- 
sibility of  universal  human  happiness  being  reached  by  a  volun- 
tary equality  in  the  distribution  of  the  products  of  labor. 

'•  Voluntary,  do  you  see,  aunt !  that  is  the  very  essence  of  the 
scheme,"  ho  rambled  on,  while  she  appeared  to  be  listening 
gravely.  "Thompson  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  force;  he 
himself  points  out  that  if  you  once  bring  in  force  to  redress  the 
inequalities  of  wealth,  you  leave  it  open  for  every  succeeding 
majority  to  employ  the  same  means,  so  that  industry  would  be 
annihilated,  the  capitalists  would  not  lend,  the  workers  would  not 
work.  No,  it  is  all  to  be  done  by  mutual  consent.  Those  who 
have  wealth  at  present  are  not  to  be  disturbed ;  what  they  have 
amassed  is  but  a  trifie  compared  with  what  the  millions  can  pro- 
duce ;  and  it  is  this  product  of  universal  co-operation  that  is  to 
constitute  the  real  wealth  of  the  world.  Well,  I  suppose  it  is 
only  a  dream,"  he  proceeded.  "On  the  other  hand,  take  my 
father's  way  of  looking  at  it.  He  is  all  for  State  interference :  the 
State  is  to  appropriate  everything  and  manage  everything,  and 
to  keep  on  managing  it,  I  suppose,  or  else  things  would  revert 
to  their  former  condition.  That's  where  the  trouble  comes  in,  of 
course.  The  moment  you  allow  anything  like  freedom  of  coh- 
tract,  how  can  you  prevent  the  former  condition  of  affairs  com- 
ing into  existence  again?  You  know,  after  all,  auat,  there  ie 
generally  a  reason  for  the  institutions  and  social  arrangements  of 
any  country :  they  don't  spring  ont  of  nothing.  They  grow,  and 
their  growth  is  a  necessity." 

"  Vincent  Harris,"  said  the  young  widow,  solemnly,  "  I  per- 
ceive the  seeds  of  a  rabid  Toryism  beginning  to  sprout  in  your 
young  mind.  Wouldn't  your  father  say  that  the  reason  for  the 
monstrous  condition  of  affairs  now  existing — I  don't  consider 
them  monsiicnj,  not  I ;  I'm  pretty  well  content,  thank  you — but 
wouldn't  he  say  the  reason  was  simply  the  ignorance  of  the 
people  who  produce  and  the  unscrupulous  greed  of  the  other 
people  who  take  the  lion's  share  of  the  profits  ?  Of  course  he 
would,  and  so  he  wants  to  educate  the  producer,  and  protect  him 
by  the  State,  and  see  that  he  isn't  swindled.  Go  to,  thou  art 
Didymns,  and  an  unbeliever.  I  suspect  Lord  Musselburgh  has 
been  corrupting  you.  Tell  me,"  she  said,  irrelevantly,  "  who  is 
the  woman  with  the  black  curls.  I  did  not  catch  her  name  when 
she  was  introduced  to  me." 


->,. 


06 


BTAiro  ^ABT,  OBAIQ-BOTSTOirt 


He  was  delighted  that  she  showed  no  sign  of  retnrninp'  to  that 
awkward  topic. 

"  Goodness,  gracious  me,  annt !"  said  he,  glancing  in  the  direc- 
tion indicated,  where  sat  an  elderly  lady,  thin  and  gaunt  and 
pale,  with  large  lustrous  black  eyes,  and  black  hair  done  up  in 
the  fashion  of  a  generation  ago,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  yon  don't 
know  Madame  Mikucsek  i" 

•<  Who  is  Madame— what-is-it  f 

"Yon  never  even  heard  of  her!"  he  exclaimed,  in  affected 
astonishment  "  Madame  Mikucsek,  the  discoverer  of  the  Mys-^ 
tery  of  the  East,  the  Prophetess  of  the  New  Religion,  who  has 
her  followers  and  disciples  all  over  the  world,  from  Syria  to  the 
Himalayas,  from  New  York  to  Sacramento.  Really,  aunt,  you 
surprise  me ;  you  will  be  saying  next  you  never  heard  of  B6." 

*'  What  is  B6,  or  who  is  he !"  she  demanded,  impatiently. 

"  £6"  he  repeated,  as  if  he  were  too  puzzled  by  her  appalling 
ignorance  to  be  able  to  explain, "  why,  B6 — B6  is  the  equivalent 
of  the  Chinese  Td.  It  is  the  principle  of  life,  it  is  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end  of  all  things,  it  is  the  condition  of  the  soul ; 
and  yet  not  quite  the  condition  of  the  soul,  for  the  soul  can  live 
outside  B6  until  the  miracle  of  initiation  happens.  Then  the 
Bonl  is  received  into  B6,  and  finds  that  the  present  is  non-exist- 
ent, and  that  only  the  past  and  the  future  exist,  the  future  being 
really  the  past,  when  once  the  soul  has  entered  BdJ' 

♦*  Vin,  I  believe  you  are  making  a  fool  of  me,"  the  pretty  Mrs. 
Ellison  said,  severely. 

"  Oh,  I  assure  yon,  aunt,"  he  said,  with  eyes  innocent  of  guile, 
<*  it  is  the  great  discovery  of  the  age,  the  great  discovery  of  all 
time,  the  Sacred,  the  Ineffable.  When  you  enter  into  BA  yon 
lose  your  individuality— -or,  rather,  you  never  had  any  individu- 
ality— for  individuality  was  a  confusion  of  thought,  a  prod- 
uct of  the  present,  and  the  present,  as  I  have  explained  to 
yon,  my  dear  annt,  ceases  to  exist  when  you  have  entered  B6. 
Did  I  tell  you  that  Bd  is  sentient!  Yes,  but  yet  not  a  being, 
though  there  are  manifestations,  mysterious  and  ecstatic,  and  the 
disciples  write  to  each  other  on  the  first  day  of  each  month,  and 
tell  each  other  what  trances  they  have  been  in,  and  what  spirit- 
ual joy  they  have  received.  These  reports  are  sent  to  Madame 
Mikucsek,  and  they  are  published  in  a  journal  that  circulates 
among  the  initiated,  but  the  phraseology  is  hieratic,  the  outside 


<^Ml 


STAHO   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTOITI 


0f 


retarninp  to  tlat 

icing  in  the  direo- 
n  and  gaunt  and 
[  hair  done  np  in 
I  to  say  yoa  don't 


imed,  in  affected 
rarer  of  the  Mys- 
Celigion,  who  has 
From  Syria  to  the 
Really,  aunt,  you 
r  heard  of  JSd." 
,  impatiently, 
by  her  appalling 
is  the  equivalent 
,  it  is  the  begin- 
bion  of  the  soul ; 
the  soul  can  lire 
)ens.  Then  the 
sent  is  non-exist- 
the  future  being 

"  the  pretty  Mrs. 

inocent  of  guile, 
discovery  of  all 
iter  into  Bd  yoo 
id  any  individu- 
bought,  a  prod- 
ve  explained  to 
lave  entered  B6. 
yet  not  a  being, 
ecstatic,  and  the 
each  month,  and 
and  vhat  spirit- 
sent  to  Madame 
that  circulates 
atio,  the  outside 


world  could  make  nothing  of  it  As  for  her,  she  is  not  expected 
to  reveal  anything;  what  she  experiences  transcends  human 
speech,  and  even  human  thought." 

"  I  saw  the  woman  mopping  up  gravy  with  a  piece  of  bread," 
said  Mrs.  Ellison,  with  frowning  eyebrows. 

"  j?4,"  continued  this  young  man,  very  seriously,  "  as  far  as  I 
ha<^e  been  able  to  make  it  out,  consists  of  a  vast  sphere ellip- 
tical, however ;  the  zenith  containing  all  human  aspiration,  the 
base  consisting  of  forgotten  evil  When  you  once  enter  this 
magic  circle  you  are  lost,  you  are  transformed,  you  are  here  and 
yet  not  here ;  to  be  does  not  signify  to  be,  but  not  to  be,  and 
not  to  be  is  the  highest  good  except  not  to  have  been.  Bd,  when 
once  you  have  received  the  consecration,  and  bathed  in  the  light, 
and  perceived  the  altitudes  and  the  essential  deeps  and  cogni- 
zances— " 

"  Ought  to  be  written  Bosh,"  said  she,  briefly.  "  I  will  not 
hear  any  more  of  that  nonsense ;  and  I  believe  you  are  only  hum- 
bugging me.  Madame  WhatVher-name  looks  more  like  the 
widow  of  a  French  Communist.  Now  listen  to  me,  Vin,  for  I 
am  going  away  to-morrow.  I  am  glad  I  was  mistaken  about  the 
actress ;  but  take  care ;  don't  get  into  scrapes.  I  shaVt  be  happy 
till  I  see  you  married.  Ordinarily  a  man  should  not  marry  until 
he  is  thirty  or  five-and-thirty — if  he  is  five-and-forty  so  much  the 
better — but  even  at  five-and-thirty  he  may  have  acquired  a  little 
judgment;  ho  may  be  able  to  tell  how  much  honesty  there  is  in 
the  extreme  amiability  and  unselfishness  and  simplicity  that  & 
young  woman  can  assume,  or  whether  she  is  likely  to  turn  out 
an  ill-conditioned,  cross-grained,  and  sulking  brute.  Oh,  you 
needn't  laugl) !  It's  no  laughing  matter,  as  you'll  find  out,  my 
young  friend.  But  you — ^you  are  different ;  you  are  no  school- 
boy. You've  seen  the  world  —  too  much  of  it;  for  you've 
learned  disrespect  for  your  elders,  and  try  to  bamboozle  them 
with  accounts  of  sham  systems  of  philosophy  or  religion,  or 
whatever  it  is.  I  say  you  ought  to  marry  young,  but  not  an 
elderly  woman,  as  many  a  young  man  does,  for  money  or  position. 
Good  gracious,  no !  You'll  have  plenty  of  money ;  your  father 
isn't  just  yet  going  to  sell  this  silver  dinner-sen'ice — which  I  de- 
test, for  it  always  looks  more  greasy  than  china ;  and,  besides, 
you  feel  as  if  you  were  scoring  it  with  the  edge  of  your  knife 
all  the  time.  I  saf  he  isn't  going  to  sell  his  silver  and  distribute 
C* 


II 


S8 


tTAWD   Tkn,  OKAIO-ROTSTOVI 


! 


I 


nnto  tho  poor^tM^  yet.  As  for  position,  yoaVe  got  to  make  that 
for  yourself.  Would  you  owe  it  to  your  wife  f  Very  wtil,"  pro- 
ceeded his  pretty  monitress,  in  her  easy  and  prattling  fashion, 
"  coiiie  down  to  Brighton  for  a  week  or  two.  I  will  ask  tho 
Drexel  girls ;  yoi.  will  hare  them  all  to  yourself,  to  pick  and 
choose  from ;  but  Louie  is  my  favorite.  Sfou  have  no  idea  bow 
delightful  Brighton  is  in  June ;  the  inland  drives  are  perfect,  so 
cool  and  shaded  with  trees — when  you  know  where  to  go,  that 
is.  If  you  come  down  I'll  make  np  a  party  and  take  you  all  to 
Ascot;  Mrs.  Bourke  has  offered  me  her  house  for  the  week — 
— isn't  that  good-natured,  when  she  could  easily  have  let  it ! — 
and  I  have  to  telegraph  *  yes '  or  '  no '  to-morrow.  I  hadn't  in- 
tended going  myself ;  but  if  you  say  you  will  come  down,  I 
will  accept ;  and  I  know  I  can  get  the  Drexel  girls." 

"  It  is  so  kind  of  you,  aunt— so  very  kind,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
really  can't  get  away.  Yuu  know  I  don't  care  much  about 
racing — " 

"  But  Louie  Drexel  isn't  racing." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  you  must  excuse  me,  annt,"  he  said,  con- 
tritely. 

"  Oh,  distribution  of  wealth,  supply  and  demand,  sugar  boun- 
ties, and  Blue-books — is  that  it?  Well,  well,  what  the  young 
men  of  the  present  day  are  coming  to — " 

She  could  say  no  more,  for  at  this  moment  her  neighbor,  an 
elderly  and  learned  gentleman  from  Oxford,  addressed  her.  He 
had  not  hitherto  uttered  a  word,  having  paid  strict  attention  to 
every  dish  and  every  wine,  albeit  he  was  a  lean  and  famished- 
looking  person ;  but  now  he  remarked  that  the  evenings  were 
hot  for  the  middle  of  June.  He  spoke  of  the  danger  of  having, 
recourse  to  iced  fluids.  Then  he  went  on  to  compare  the 
bathing  of  the  Qreeks  and  Romans  with  the  ablutions  of  the 
English,  until  he  was  c&red  strawberries;  whereupon,  hav- 
ing helped  himself  largely,  he  fell  into  a  business-like  silence 
again. 

When  at  length  the  ladies  had  gone  up-stairs,  Lord  Mussel- 
burgh came  and  took  tlie  seat  just  vacated  by  Mrs.  Ellison. 

<>  I  have  a  commission  from  your  father,  Vin,"  said  he.  "  I 
am  to  persuade  you  of  the  sweet  reasonableness  of  his  project — 
that  you  should  for  a  time  become  the  private  secretary  of  Mr. 
Ogden." 


STAND   FAST,  OSAIO-BOTITOK  t 


A» 


got  to  make  thot 
Very  wtil,"  pro- 
prattling  fashion, 
I  will  ask  the 
rself,  to  pick  and 
have  no  idea  bow 
es  are  perfect,  so 
irhere  to  go,  that 
1  take  yoa  all  to 
>  for  the  week — 
ily  have  let  it  ? — 
»w.  I  hadn't  in- 
ill  come  down,  I 
[iris." 

'  he  said,  "  but  I 
are  much  about 


nt,"  he  said,  con- 

and,  sugar  boun- 
what  the  young 

her  neighbor,  an 
iressed  her.  He 
;rict  attention  to 
a  and  famished- 
e  evenings  were 
langer  of  having, 
to  compare  the 
iblotions  of  the 
whereupon,  hav- 
ness-like  silence 

rs,  Lord  Mussel- 
frs.  Ellison. 
1,"  said  he.     "  I 
of  his  project — 
secretary  of  Mr. 


"  The  private  secretary  of  a  man  who  hasnH  an  A  /"  retorted 
^f aster  Yin  with  scorn. 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  f"  the  young  nobleman  said, 
coolly.  "  No  •  after  all,  there  is  something  in  what  your  father 
says.  He  belieTcs  that  the  next  great  political  and  social  move- 
ment will  be  the  emancipation  of  the  wage-earner,  the  securing 
to  the  producer  the  fair  share  of  the  products  of  his  labor.  If 
that  is  so  it  will  be  a  big  thing.  It  will  be  years  before  it  comes 
off,  no  doubt ;  but  then  there  will  be  a  great  wave  of  public 
opinion,  and  if  you  are  prepared — if  you  are  there — if  you  are 
identified  with  this  tremendous  social  revolution — why,  that  mag- 
nificent wave  will  peacefully  and  calmly  lift  ^  ,a  into  the  Cabinet 
I  think  that's  about  his  notion.  Very  well.  If  you  are  willing 
to  take  up  this  work,  how  could  you  begin  better  than  by  be- 
coming private  secretary  to  Josiah  Ogden  f  There  you  would 
come  into  direct  touch  with  the  masses ;  you  would  get  to  know 
at  first  hand  what  they  are  thinking  of,  what  they  are  hoping  for. 
Subsequently  you  could  speak  with  authority.  Then  there's 
another  thing,  Vin.  If  you  want  to  become  a  figure  of  public 
life  in  England,  if  you  want  to  build  a  splendid  monument  for 
yourself,  you  should  begin  at  the  base.  Capture  the  multitude ; 
be  as  red-hot  a  radical  as  they  can  desire,  and  they  won't  mind 
what  you  do  afterwards.  You  may  accept  ofiice ;  you  may  be 
petted  by  royalty,  but  they  will  rather  like  it  They  will  look 
on  it  as  a  compliment  paid  to  one  of  themselves.  And  that  is 
where  Ogden  would  some  in.  He,  too,  is  one  of  themselves, 
thou<rh  he  has  his  hired  brougham  when  he  comes  to  town,  and 
his  big  dinners  at  the  Menagerie  Club.  What  have  you  got  to 
do  with  his  A's  ?  If  I  want  to  bacik  a  horse,  or  order  a  pair  of 
boots,  or  have  my  hair  cut,  what  does  it  matter  to  me  whether 
the  man  has  an  h,  or  a  superfluity  of  A's)  Yon  make  him  use- 
ful to  you ;  you  get  what  yon  want;  isn't  thftt  enough  ?'■ 

"  Oh,  no,  it  is  not,"  Vincent  rejoined,  but  respectfully,  for 
he  never  forgot  that  Lord  Musselburgh  was  his  senior  by  very 
nearly  five  years.  "  Yon  see,  you  don't  go  into  partnership  with 
your  hairdresser,  and  you  don't  put  your  name  over  the  boot- 
maker's shop.  And  I  shouldn't  learn  much  from  Mr.  Ogden, 
for  I  don't  believe  in  his  machine-made  politics :  everything  to 
be  done  by  committees  and  resolutions  and  majorities.  I  ex- 
pect to  find  him  startiii^  a  Bocfetip  fof  |h9  SupprM^ioo  of  ^i^nca 


X'.> 


60 


BTAVO    rABT,  CRAIO-ROTBTOIT I 


i 


and  Jady  shows,  so  that  the  infantile  mind  of  Sngland  may  not 
be  corrupted  by  exhibitions  of  brutality." 

"  He  is  a  very  able  man,  let  me  tell  you  that,"  said  Mussel- 
burgh, with  decision;  "and  a  capital  speaker — a  slogger,  of 
course,  but  that  is  wanted  for  big  crowds.  And  sometimes  he 
turns  out  a  neat  thing.  Did  you  notice  what  he  said  at  Shef- 
field the  other  day,  tolling  the  .vorking-men  not  to  bo  too  grate- 
ful for  rich  men's  charities — for  recreation  grounds,  drinking- 
foantains,  and  the  like  f  What  he  said  was  this :  <  Whan  the 
capitalist  has  robbed  Peter,  it  is  easy  for  him  to  salve  his  con- 
science by  throwing  a  crust  to  Paul.'  Not  bad.  1  think  you 
might  do  worse,  Yin,  than  become  Ogden's  private  secretary. 
Pretty  hard  v/ork,  of  course ;  but  the  modem  young  man  in 
politics  is  supposed  to  be  thoroughly  in  earnest.  If  he  isn't, 
he  will  have  '^<o  reckon  with  the  evening  papers,  for  they  don't 
like  tc  be  trifled  with." 

The  subject  was  not  a  grateful  one  apparently.  Yin  Harris 
changed  it.  ^ 

"  Do  you  remember,"  he  said,  with  some  little  diffidonc^^ 
"  that — ^that  I  was  in  your  house  one  aft;<».n»oon  a  few  weeks 
ago  when  an  old  gentleman  called,  and — and  his  granddaugh- 
ter—" 

"The  fervid  old  Scotchman?    Oh, yes."  Jl 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know  him !"  the  yoang  man  a8ke4i 
with  downcast  eyes. 

*'I  hardly  recollect  Let  me  see.  I  think  he  first  of  all 
wrote  to  me,  enclosing  a  note  of  introduction  he  had  brought 
from  a  friend  of  mine  in  New  York— a  brother  Scot  Then, 
as  yon  saw,  he  called,  and  told  me  something  further  about  a 
book  he  is  going  to  bring  out  And  I  gave  him  some  little  as- 
sistance. I  don't  think  he  is  above  accepting  a  few  sovereigns 
from  any  one  to  help  him  on  his  way  through  the  world." 

Yin  Harris  flushed  hotly,  and  he  raised  his  head  and  looked 
his  friend  straight  in  the  face  as  he  put  the  next  question. 

«  Bat — bathe  is  a  gentleman !— -his  name,  his  family,  even  his 
bearing — " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes ;  I  suppose  so,"  Lord  Masselburgh  said,  lightly. 
"Poor  old  fellow,  I  was  glad  to  lend  him  a  helping  hand.  I 
think  his  enthusiasm,  hb  patriotism,  was  genuine ;  and  it  is  a 
thing  you  don't  often  meet  .with  nowadaya" 


mm 


•P" 


BTAMD   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTON I 


•I 


Sngland  may  not 

lat,"  said  Musnel- 
r — a  slogger,  of 
nd  sometimes  h? 
i  be  said  at  Shef- 
t  to  bo  too  grate- 
rounds,  drinking- 
bhis:  <Whan  the 
to  salve  his  con- 
ad.  1  think  you 
private  secretary, 
n  young  man  in 
lest.  If  he  isn't, 
rs,  for  they  don't 

itly.    Vin  Harris 

little  diffidence, 
>on  a  few  weeks 
his  granddaugfa- 


>nng  man  asket}, 

k  he  first  of  all 
he  had  brought 

ler  Scot  Then, 
further  abont  a 

m  some  little  as- 

a  few  sovereigns 

the  world." 

head  and  looked 

St  question. 

I  family,  even  his 

irgh  said,  lightly, 
lelping  hand.  I 
line ;  and  it  is  a 


"  Yes,  but — but,"  Vincent  said,  with  a  good  deal  of  embarrass- 
ment, and  yet  with  some  touch  of  balf-iuuignant  remonstrance, 
"  the  money  you  gave  him — that  was  to  aid  him  in  bringing 
out  the  book,  wasn't  it !" 

"  Certainly,  certainly !"  the  other  made  huswer;  he  did  not 
happen  to  notice  the  expression  on  his  friend's  face.  "  Some- 
thing about  Scotland — Scotch  poetry — I  think  when  he  wrote 
he  said  something  abont  a  dedication,  but  that  is  an  honor  I 
hardly  covet." 

•  In  any  case,"  observed  the  yonng  man,  "  you  have  no  right 
to  say  he  would  accept  money  from  —  from  any  one — from  a 
stranger." 

Then  Lord  Musselburgh  did  look  up,  struck  by  something  in 
his  companion's  tone. 

"  Did  I  say  that  ?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Of  course  it  was 
on  account  of  the  book  that  I  ventured  to  give  him  some  little 
help.  Oh,  yes,  certainly.  I  should  not  have  ventured  otherwise. 
If  he  had  been  offended,  I  dare  s«y  he  wonld  have  said  so ;  but 
I  fancy  the  old  gentlemen  has  had  to  overcome  his  pride  before 
now.  He  seems  to  have  led  a  curious,  wandering  life.  By  the 
way,  Vin,  weren't  you  very  much  impressed  by  the  young  lady  f 
I  remember  your  saying  something — " 

Fortunately  there  was  no  need  for  Vincent  to  answer  this 
question,  for  now  there  began  a  general  movement  on  the  part 
of  the  remaining  guests  to  go  up-stairs  to  the  drawing-room ; 
and  in  this  little  bit  of  a  bustle  he  escaped  from  further  cross- 
examination. 
,  When  at  the  end  of  the  evening  all  the  people  had  gone  away, 
and  when  Harland  Harris  had  shut  himself  up  in  his  study  to  fin- 
ish his  correspondence — for  he  was  going  down  the  neit  morning 
to  a  Congress  of  Co-operative  Societies  at  Ipswich — ^Mrs.  Ellison 
and  her  nephew  found  themselves  alone  in  the  drawing-room ; 
and  the  fair  yonng  widow  must  needs  return  to  the  subject  she 
had  been  discoursing  upon  at  dinner — ^namely,  that  this  young 
man,  in  order  to  guard  against  pitfalls  and  embroilments,  should 
get  married  forthwith. 

"Ton  seem  anxious  that  I  should  marry,"  said  he,  bluntly; 
"  why  don't  yon  get  marrievl  yourself  f ' 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you !"  she  replied  with  promptitude.  **  I  know 
when  I  have  had — ^"    Apparently  she  was  on  the  point  of  say- 


, 


mmsmmm^^- 


68 


■TAIID   PAN,  ORAIO-llOraTONl 


ing  that  she  knew  wher.  she  had  bad  enongb ;  but  that  wouir 
not  have  been  complime  .it ary  to  the  memory  of  the  decea<!ud ;  t  j 
she  abruptly  broke  off, and  then  resumed: 

"It  isn't  neccaaary  for  me  to  make  any  further  expcrimcLi*. 
in  life ;  but  for  you,  with  such  a  splendid  future  before  you 
ia  a  necessity.     As  for  me,  I  mcau  to  let  v'<^li  alonr.     Av.i 
(^  is  well — very  well.     I  do  bel  cve,  VJi,  thU  1  am  the  only 
f  >man  on '.lis  earth —" 

•Whati'  he  sj^id.  ■? 

*'  — Who  is  really  contented.  I  am  too  happy.  Sometinoea 
I'tn  afraid ;  it  seems  aa  if  I  bad  no  right  to  it  Why,  «vhea  I 
I.V,  .  "*  down-stairs  in  the  morning  and  draw  an  eaay-chair  to 
Jie  ;pen  windows — especially  when  there  is  a  breeie  coming 
off  the  sea,  and  the  sun-blinds  are  out,  and  the  balcony  nic.  'y 
shaded,  you  know — I  mean  at  home,  in  Brunswick  Terrace — 
well,  when  I  take  up  the  newspaper  and  begin  to  read  about 
what's  going  on,  as  if  it  were  ail  some  kind  of  a  distant  thing, 
I  feel  so  satisfied  with  the  quiet  and  the  coolness  and  the  sea 
air  that  I  am  bound  to  do  a  little  kindness  to  somebody,  and  so 
I  turn  to  the  columns  where  appeals  are  made  for  charity.  I 
don't  care  what  it  is ;  I'm  so  well  content  that  I  must  give  sor:ie- 
thing  to  somebody — distressed  Irish  widows,  sailors'  libraries, 
days  in  the  country — anything.  I  dare  say  I  sometimes  give 
money  vrhere  I  shouldn't,  but  how  am  I  to  know  t  and,  at  any 
rate,  it  pleases  me." 

'*  But  why  shouldn't  yon  be  happy,  aunt  f"  said  the  young  man. 
"  Yon  are  bo  good-humored,  and  so  kind,  and  so  nice  to  look 
at,  that  it  is  ro  wonder  yon  are  sach  a  favorite,  with  men  es- 
pecially.' 

"  Ob,  yes,"  she  said,  frankly.  "  Men  are  always  nice  to 
you,  except  the  one  you  happen  to  marry ;  and  I'm  not  going 
to  spoil  ihf  situation.  At  present  they're  all  sweetness,  and 
that  suits  me;  I'm  not  going  to  give  any  one  of  them  the 
chance  of  showing  himself  an  ungrateful  brute.  When  I  come 
down-atairs  at  Brighton,  I  like  to  see  only  one  cup  on  the 
breakfaot-tfcble,  and  to  feel  that  I  have  the  whole  room  to  ray- 
self.  Hnlfish  I  tlien  you  can  make  amends  by  sending  somethine^ 
to  the  Children's  Hospital  or  the  People's  Palace,  or  gometliinjj 
of  that  kind." 

"  Do  you  know,  aunt/'  he  observed,  gravely,  "  what  Mr.  Ogden 


--4>Mlr«WNMMMM«MP 


iW— l«T"W%WIW1. 


fl*AND   f  i  «T,  ORAIO-ROYATON  t 


as 


;  bat  that  woan 
;he  deceo'fud ;  kj 

her  expcritncL)^ 
re  before  you 
ell  slonp.     Av.i 
r  I  ain  the  only 


py.  Sometinaes 
Why,  *hea  I 
Lti  easy-chair  to 
\  breeze  coming 
5  balcony  nic.  'y 
iwick  Terrace — 
1  to  read  about 
a  distant  thing, 
ess  and  the  eea 
tmebody,  and  so 
for  charity.  I 
must  give  8or;ie- 
lailom'  libraries, 
sometimes  give 
>w  f  and,  at  any 

the  yoang  man. 
so  nice  to  look 
e,  with  men  es- , 

ilways   nice   to 

I'm  not  going 

sweetness,  and 

16  of  them  the 

When  I  come 

ne  cup  on  the 

lo  room  to  my- 

ding  something 

St  or  something 

irhat  Mr.  C^den 


off 


8«y  J  of  you !    ^^e  8;.y»  that,  havii  g  robbed  Peter,  yon  try  to  salve 
your  conr  icnco  by  throwing  a  cruAt,  to  Paul." 

"When  did  I  rob  Peter  J  '  hat  Petflr!"  she  said,  indig- 
nantly. 

"  You  are  a  capitalist — -on  have  moro  than  your  own  share; 
vou  possess  what  yo  •  do  not  work  for;  therefore  you  are  a  rob- 
ber ad  .Kinderer.  1  am  sorry  for  you, aunt;  but  Mr.  Ogdcn 
has  pronounced  your  doom." 

"Mr.  Ogdenl"  she  said,  with  j-ngry  brows;  and  then  she 
stopped. 

•'  Yes,  aunt  ?"  ho  said,  encouragingly. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  But  I  tell  you  this,  Vin.  You  were  talking  of 
the  proper  distribution  of  wealth.  Well,  when  you  come  to 
marry,  and  if  I  approve  of  the  girl,  I  mean  to  distribute  a  little 
of  my  plunder — of  my  ill-gotten  gains — in  that  direction — sh*' 
sha'n't  come  empty-handed.  That  is,  if  I  approve  of  her,  you  m 
derstand.  And  the  best  thing  you  could  do  would  be  to  a^.  t 
your  mind  and  come  down  to  Brighton  for  a  week  or  two,  i|^ 
I'll  send  for  the  Drexel  girls,  ar-^  perhaps  one  or  two  morr 
you  can't  just  at  prescnty  you  may  later  on.  Now  Pm  goir 
to  my  room,  and  PU  say  good-bye  as  well  as  good-night.  I 
don't  suppose  I  shall  see  you  in  the  morni|)g." 

"  Good-night,  then,  and  good-bye,  aunt,"  sa'd  he,  as  he  huld 
i'.er  hand  fo>  a  second ;  and  that  was  the  last  that  he  saw  of  her 
for  some  considerable  time. 

For  a  great  change  was  about  to  take  place  in  this  young 
man's  position  and  circumstances,  in  his  interests  and  amb'tions 
and  trembling  hopes.  He  was  about  to  enter  wonderland,  that 
80  many  have  entered,  stealthily  and  almost  fearing ;  that  so 
many  remember,  and  perhaps  would  fain  forget.  Do  any  re- 
main in  that  mystic  and  rose-hued  region  f  Some,  at  least,  have 
never  even  approached  it,  for  its  portals  are  not  easily  discover- 
able— are  not  discoverable  at  all,  indeed,  except,  by  t'ae  twin 
torches  of  imagination  and  abolition  of  self. 

Wh6n  he  went  up  to  his  chambers  the  next  morning  he  was 
surprised  to  find  a  card  lying  on  the  table ;  he  had  not  expected 
a  visitor  in  this  secluded  retreat  And  when  he  glanced  at  the 
name  he  was  still  more  perturbed.  What  an  opportunity  he  bad 
missed !  Perhaps  Mr.  Bethune  bad  brought  an  informal  little 
invitation  for  hi'^. — the  first  overture  of  friendliness.    He  might 


04 


•VAITD   rAIT,  OUAIO-BOTarOirt 


hare  apent  the  evening  in  the  hnshed  snikH  parlor  over  the  waj, 
with  those  violiu  straiuB  vibrating  through  the  dusk,  or,  with  the 
lightb  ablaze,  ho  might  have  sat  and  listened  to  the  old  man's 
tales  of  travel,  while  Maisrio  Bethune  would  be  sitting  at  her 
needlework,  but  looking  up  from  time  to  time,  each  glance  a 
world's  wonder.  And  what  had  ho  had  in  exchange  ? — a  vapid 
dinner-party,  some  talk  about  socialism,  an  invitation  that  he 
should  descend  into  the  catacombs  of  north  of  England 
politics  and  labor  mole-like  there  to  no  apparent  end ;  fiuallj, 
a  promise  that  if  he  would  only  marry  the  young  lady  of 
Mrs.  Ellison's  choice — presumably  one  of  her  American  friends 
— his  bride  should  have  sumo  additional  dowry  to  recommend 
her.  What  were  all  those  distant  schemes,  and  even  the 
brilliant  future  that  everybody  scorned  to  prophesy  for  him,  to 
tli«  bewildering  possibilities  that  were  almost  within  his  reach? 
Ho  went  to  the  window.  The  pota  of  musk  and  lobelia  and 
ox-eye  daisies  in  the  little  balcony  over  there,  and  also  the 
Virginia  creeper  intertwisting  its  sprays  through  the  iron  bars, 
seemed  fresh;  no  doubt  she  had  sprinkled  them  with  water 
before  leaving  with  her  grandfather.  And  had  they  gone  to 
Byde  Park,  as  usual )  lie  was  so  ely  tempted  to  go  in  search  ; 
but  sometliing  told^him  this  might  provoke  suspicions,  so  he 
resolutely  hauled  in  a  chair  to  the  table  and  set  to  work  with 
his  books  and  annotationei,  though  sometimes  there  came  before 
his-  eyes  a  nebulous  vision,  as  of  a  sheet  of  silvery-gray  water 
and  a  shimmering  of  elms. 

In  the  afternoon  ho  went  out  and  bought  a  clothes-brush,  a 
couple  of  hair-brushes,  some  scented  soap,  and  other  toilette  req- 
uisit<tia — of  wliich  he  had  not  hitherto  known  the  need  in  these 
chambers — and  about  five  o'clock  or  a  little  thereafter,  having 
carefully  removed  the  last  speck  from  his  coat  sleeve,  he  crossed 
the  way  and  rather  timidly  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  opened 
by  the  landlady*!)  daughter,  who  appeared'  at  once  surprised  and 
pleased  on  finding  who  the  visitor  was. 

"  Is  Mr.  Bethnne  at  home }"  he  demanded,  with  some  vaguely 
uncomfortable  feeling  that  this  damsel's  eyes  looked  too  friendly. 
She  seemed  to  nnderstand  everything — to  have  been  expecting 
him. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"May  I  go  np-etairsf 


,-.»s~siiRi 


MJMItlMliWDlihMBWinWiiiHW 


mmrn 


wvmmmi 


'w-r 


■TAND    FAST,  ORAIO-KOrBTONI 


M 


rior  orer  tbe  w»y, 
dusk,  or,  with  the 
to  the  old  roan's 
be  sitting  at  her 
10,  each  glance  a 
:hange? — a  vapid 
nvitation  that  ho 
arth  of  England 
rent  end ;  fiuallj, 
J  young  lady  of 
American  friends 
ry  to  recommend 
s,  and  oven  the 
>hcsy  for  him,  to 
within  his  reach? 
c  and  lobelia  and 
ire,  and  also  the 
gh  tho  iron  bars, 
them  with  water 
ad  they  gone  to 
.  to  go  in  search  ; 
suspicions,  so  he 
set  to  work  with 
here  came  before 
ilvery-gray  water 

I  clothos-brnsh,  a 
other  toilette  req- 
;ho  need  in  these 
;hereafter,  having 
sleeve,  he  crossed 
'.  It  was  opened 
ice  snrprised  and 

ith  some  vaguely 
)ked  too  friendly. 
e  been  expecting 


lie  gave  no  name,  but  she  did  not  hesitate  for  n  moment.  She 
led  tho  way  up-stairs ;  she  tapped  lightly,  and  in  answer  to  Mr. 
Bcthnno's  loud  "  Come  in  !"  she  opened  the  door  and  said : 

"The  young  gentleman,  sir,"  a  form  of  announcement  that 
might  have  struck  Vincent  as  peculiar  if  he  had  cot  been  much 
too  occupied  to  notice. 

"  Ah  I  how  do  you  do!  how  do  you  do  f '  old  George  Bethune 
(who  was  alone)  called  out,  and  he  pushed  aside  his  book  and 
came  forward  with  extended  hand.  "  Nothing  like  being  neigh- 
borly ;  solitary  units  in  the  great  sea  of  London  life  have  natu- 
rally some  interest  in  each  other.  You  would  gather  that  I  looked 
in  on  you  last  night." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  as  ho  took  the  proffered  chair. 
"  I  nm  very  sorry  I  happened  to  be  out.  I  had  to  dine  at  home 
last  evening." 

"  At  homo !"  repeated  Mr.  Bethune,  looking  for  the  moment 
jiist  a  trifle  pnuled. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  his  visitor,  rather  nervously.  "Perhaps  I  didn't 
explain.  I  don't  live  over  there,  yon  mtow.  I  only  have  tbe 
rooms  for  purposes  of  study.  The  place  is  so  quiet  1  can  get  on 
better  than  at  home ;  there  are  no  interruptions." 

"  Except  a  little  violin-playing  f '  the  old  man  suggested,  good- 
naturedly. 

"  I  wish  there  were  more  of  that,  sir,"  Vincent  observed,  re- 
spectfully. "  That  was  only  in  the  evenings,  and  1  used  to  wait 
for  it,  to  tell  yon  the  truth,  as  a  kind  of  ucintentional  reward 
nfter  my  day's  work.  But  of  late  I  have  heard  nothing ;  I  hope 
that  Miss  Bethune  was  not  offended  that  I  ventured  to — to  open 
my  piano  at  the  same  time." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all ;  I  can  hardly  think  so,"  her  grandfather  said, 
airily.  "  She  also  has  been  busy  with  her  books  of  late — it  is 
Dante,  I  believe,  at  present — and  as  I  insist  on  her  always  read- 
ing aloud,  whatever  the  language  is,  she  goes  up  -  stairs  to  her 
own  room,  so  that  I  haven't  seen  much  of  her  in  the  evenings. 
Now,  may  I  offer  you  a  cigar  f " 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Or  a  glass  of  claret  f ' 

"No,  thanks." 

"  Then  tell  me  what  your  studies  are,  that  we  may  become  bet- 
ter acquainted." 


'i 


i 


i 


66 


■TAWD   VAIT,  OKAIO-ROTITOiri 


And  ViDcont  wm  about  toy  do  that  when  the  door  behind 
him  opened,  laatinctivoly  ho  rose  and  tunuMl.  The  ncul  in- 
Htant  Maisrie  liethuno  was  before  him,  lookinj^  taller,  lie  thought, 
than  he  had,  in  Hyde  I'ark,  imaf^incd  iier  to  be.  8I10  saluted 
him,  gravely  and  without  embarraHmcnt — pcrlin|m  she  had  been 
told  of  his  arrival ;  it  was  ho  who  was,  for  the  moment,  somewhat 
eonfused,  and  anxious  to  apologise  and  ex[>lain.  But,  curiously 
enough,  that  was  only  a  passing  phase,  liut  once  ho  had  real- 
ised that  she  also  was  in  tho  room,  not  paying  much  attention, 
perhaps,  but  listening  when  she  chose,  aa  she  attended  to  some 
flowers  she  had  brought  for  tho  central  table,  all  his  embarrass- 
ment i^rd,  and  his  natural  buoyancy  and  confidence  came  to  his 
•id.  She,  on  her  side,  seemed  to  consider  that  she  was  of  no 
account ;  that  she  was  not  called  upon  to  interfere  in  this  con- 
versation between  her  grandfather  and  his  guest.  When  she 
bad  finished  with  the  flowers,  she  went  to  tho  open  window  and 
took  her  seat,  opening  out  some  needlework  she  had  carried 
thilhor.  Tho  young  man  could  see  ahe  ha<l  beautiful  hands, 
rather  long,  perhaps,  but  exquisitely  formed — another  wonder  I 
But  the  truly  extraordinary  thing,  the  enchantment,  was  that 
here  ho  was  in  the  same  room  with  hor,  likely  to  become  her 
friend,  and  already  privileged  to  speak  so  that  she  could  hear ! 

For  of  course  he  was  aware  that  he  had  an  audience  of  two, 
and  very  well  ho  talked.  In  his  half-excited  mood.  There  was  no 
more  timidity,  there  was  a  gay  self-assertion,  a  desire  to  excel 
and  shine ;  sometimes  he  laughed,  and  his  laugh  was  musical, 
lie  had  skilfully  drawn  from  the  old  man  a  confession  )f  polit- 
ical faith  (of  course  he  was  a  Conservative,  as  became  one  of  tho 
Bethunes  of  Balloray),  so  all  chance  of  collision  was  avoided  on 
that  point,  and,  indeed,  Yin  Harris  was  ready  to  have  sworn  that 
black  was  white,  so  eagur  was  he  to  make  an  impression  on  this 
his  first  and  wondrous  visit. 

Tho  time  wen*  by  all  too  quickly  ;  but  the  young  man  had  be- 
come intoxicate  .  by  this  unexpected  joy.  Instead  of  getting  up 
and  apologizing,  and  taking  his  hat  and  going  away,  he  boldly 
threw  out  the  suggestion  that  these  three — these  solitary  units  in 
the  great  sea  of  London  life,  as  George  Bethune  had  called  them 
— should  determine  to  spend  the  evening  together.  He  did  not 
seem  to  be  aware  of  the  audacity  of  his  proposal ;  he  was  carry- 
ing everything  before  him  in   a  high-handed  fashion.     Tho 


the  door  boliind 
1.  The  next  in- 
nller,  lio  thought, 
l)e.  8I10  oaluted 
npH  nho  had  been 
)inunt,  Hoinowhat 
'  But,  curiously 
nee  ho  had  real- 
much  attention, 
attended  to  aomo 
II  his  oinbarraiM- 
sncc  came  to  his 
it  she  was  of  no 
fero  in  this  con- 
lest.  When  she 
•pen  window  and 
she  had  carried 
beautiful  hands, 
another  wonder  I 
ntment,  was  that 
Y  to  become  her 
she  could  hear ! 
audienc«  of  two, 
1.  There  was  no 
I  desire  to  excel 
igh  was  musical, 
ifession  )f  polit- 
scamo  one  of  the 
1  was  avoided  on 
>  have  sworn  that 
iprcssion  on  this 

ung  man  had  be- 
ead  of  getting  up 

awny,  he  boldly 
9  solitary  units  in 

bad  called  them 
her.  Ue  did  not 
il ;  he  was  carry- 
d  fashion.     The 


•TAND  rairr,  OKAia*iioT»roirl  iff 

touch  of  color  that  rose  to  Maiarie  Bethune's  eheok — what  of 
that?  Oh,  yes,  maiden  shyness,  no  doubt;  but  of  little  conso- 
i|uvnco.  Hero  were  the  golden  moments ;  here  the  golden  op- 
portunity.    Why  should  they  separate  I 

"  You  aeo,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  care  to  inconveaienco  our  people 
i»t  home  by  my  uncertain  hours ;  and  so  of  late  I  have  taken  to 
(lining  at  a  restaurant  just  when  I  feel  inclined ;  and  I  have  got 
to  know  something  of  the  diflferent  pUccs.  I  think  we  might 
^o  out  for  a  little  stroll,  as  the  evening  will  be  cooler  now,  and 
wander  on  until  we  see  a  quiet  and  snug-lookiu;^  corner.  There 
JH  Homething  in  freedom  of  choice ;  and  you  may  catch  sight  of 
u  bay-window,  or  of  a  recess  with  flowers  in  it,  and  a  bit  of  • 
fountain  that  tempts  the  eye — " 

"  What  do  you  say,  Maiarie  ?"  the  old  gentleman  inquired. 

"  You  go,  grandfather,"  the  girl  replied  at  once,  but  without 
raising  her  head.  "  It  will  be  a  ploasant  change  for  you.  I 
would  rather  remain  at  homo." 

"Oh,  but  I  should  never  have  proposed  such  a  thing,"  Vin- 
cent interposed,  hastily,  "  if  it  meant  that  Miss  Bethun'i  was  to 
be  loft  here  alone.  Certainly  not !  1 — I  decline  to  \  a  party 
tu  any  such  arrangement  Oh,  I  could  not  think  of  such  a 
thing  1" 

"  You'd  bettor  come,  Maisrie,"  said  the  old  man,  with  some 
air  of  authority. 

"  Very  well,  grandfather,"  she  said,  obediently ;  and  straight- 
way she  rose  and  loft  the  room. 

Master  Vin's  heart  beat  high.  Here  were  wonders  upon  wonders ; 
in  a  short  space  he  would  be  walking  along  the  pavements  of  Lon- 
don town  with  Maisrie  Bethuno  by  his  side  (or  practically  so),  and 
thereafter  he  and  she  would  be  seated  at  the  same  table,  almost 
within  touch  of  each  other.  Would  the  wide  world  get  to  hear  of 
this  marvellous  thing?  Would  the  men  and  women  whom  they 
encountered  in  Oxford  Street  observe  and  conjecture,  and  per- 
haps pass  on  with  some  faint  vision  of  that  beautiful  and  pen- 
sive face  imprinted  on  their  memory  ?  By  what  magic  freak  of 
fortune  had  he  come  to  be  so  favored  ?  Those  people  in  Oxford 
Street  were  all  strangers  to  her,  and  would  remain  strangers ;  he 
alone  would  be  admitted  to  the  sacred  privacies  of  her  compan- 
ionship I  I  society  ;  bat  a  few  minutes  more,  and  he  would  be 
inst'uctitti,  himself  in  her  little  waysiiod  preferences,  each  one  • 


jsaT^'f 


-s 


M 


MAirn  tAST,  OBAIQ-ROTSTON  I 


I 


■5A'j 


happy  secret  to  be  kept  wholly  to  himself.  Bnt  the  entranced 
young  maa  was  hardly  prepared  for  what  now  followed.  When 
the  door  opened  again,  and  Maisrio  Bethune  reappeared  (her  eyes 
were  averted  from  him,  and  there  was  a  self-conscious  tinge  of 
color  in  her  pale  and  thoughtful  face),  she  seemed  to  have  un- 
dergone some  sudden  transformation.  The  youthful  look  lent 
to  her  appearance  by  the  long  and  loose-flowing  locks  and  her 
plain  dress  of  blue-and-white  linen  had  gone ;  and  here  was  a 
young  lady,  apparently  about  twenty,  tall,  self-possessed  (notwith- 
standing that  tinge  of  color),  and  grave  in  manner.  A  miracle 
had  been  wrorght!  and  yet  she  had  only  plaited  up  her  hair, 
tying  it  with  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon,  and  donned  a  simple  costume 
of  cream-colored  cashmere.  She  was  putting  on  her  gloves 
now,  and  he  thought  that  long  hands  were  by  far  the  most 
beautiful  of  any. 

Well,  it  was  all  a  bewilderment — this  walking  along  the  Lon- 
don streets  under  the  pale  saffron  of  the  evening  sky,  listening  to 
tie  old  man's  emphatic  monologue,  bnt  far  more  intent  on  waro- 
ing  Miss  Bethune  of  the  approach  of  a  cab  when  she  was  about 
to  cross  Ishis  or  the  other  thoroughfare.  Once  he  touched  her 
arm  in  his  anxiety  to  chsck  her ;  he  had  not  intended  to  do  so, 
and  it  was  he  who  was  thunderstruck  and  ashamed.  She  did 
not  appear  to  have  noticed.  And  then,  again,  he  w«s  afraid  lest 
she  should  be  tired  before  they  reached  the  particular  restaurant 
he  had  in  mind,  to  which  old  George  Bethune  replied  that  his 
granddaughter  did  not  know  what  fatigue  was.  He  and  she 
could  walk  for  a  whole  day,  strolling  through  the  parks  or  along 
the  streets  with  absolute  ease  and  comfort,  as  became  vagrants 
and  world-wanderors. 

"  Though  I  am  not  so  sure  it  is  altogether  good  for  Maisrie 
here,"  ho  continued.  "  It  may  be  that  that  has  kept  her  thin- 
she  is  too  thin  for  a  young  lass.  She  is  all  spirit ;  she  has  nt 
more  body  than  a  daddy-longlegs. 

Vincent  instantly  offered  to  call  a  cab,  which  they  refused ; 
but  he  was  not  beset  by  wild  alarms ;  he  knew  that,  however 
slight  she  might  be,  the  natural  grace  and  elegance  of  her  car- 
riage conld  only  be  the  outcome  of  a  symmetrical  form  in  con- 
junction with  elastic  beauty.  That  conclusion  he  had  arrived 
at  in  the  Park ;  but  now  he  noticed  another  thing— that  as  she 
walked  the  slightly-swayiag  arms  had  the  elbows  well  in  to  the 


-^v4J"'iO-'i^i-  -"-  ■ 


■.■Sflf^jv' 


mm 


STAND   CABT,  CRfclO-BOTSTON  I 


00 


Bnt  the  entranced 

I  followftil.  When 
;appeared(her  eyes 
•conscious  tinge  of 
eemed  to  have  qc- 
youthful  look  lent 
ving  locks  and  her 
i;  and  here  was  a 
possessed  (notwith- 
lanner.  A  miracle 
laited  up  her  hair, 
d  a  simple  costume 
ing  on  her  gloves 
e  by  far  the  most 

ing  along  the  Lon- 
ing  sky,  listening  to 
lore  intent  on  warn- 
rhen  she  was  about 
ttce  he  touched  her 
,  intended  to  do  bo, 
ashamed.  She  did 
n,  he  was  afraid  lest 
jarticular  restaurant 
me  replied  that  his 
was.  He  and  she 
I  the  parks  or  along 
as  became  vagrants 

;r  good  for  Maisrie 
has  kept  her  thin— 
I  spirit;  she  has  ti> 

rhich  they  refused ; 
blew  that,  however 
elegance  of  her  car- 
etrical  form  in  con- 
sion  he  had  arrived 
■  thing — that  as  she 
Ibows  well  in  to  the 


waist,  and  the  wrist  turned  out,  and  that  quite  obviously  without 
set  purpose.  It  was  a  pretty  movement,  but  it  was  more  than 
merely  graceful ;  it  was  one  mark  of  a  well-balanced  figure,  even 
as  was  her  confident  step — for  her  step  could  be  confident 
enough,  and  the  set  of  her  head  proud  enough,  if  she  mostly 
kept  her  eyes  to  the  ground. 

It  was  an  Italian  restaurant  they  entered  at  last,  and  Vincent 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  find  a  recess-compartment  which  he  knew 
of  vacant.  They  were  practically  dining  in  a  private  room,  but 
all  the  same  they  could,  when  they  chose,  glance  out  upon  the 
Jarge  saloon,  with  its  little  white  tables  and  its  various  groups  of 
olive-coniplexioned  or  English-coraplexioned  guests.  The  young 
man  assumed  the  management  of  this  small  festivity  from  the 
outset.  He  ordered  a  fiask  of  Chianti  for  Mr.  Bethune  and 
himself ;  and  then  he  would  have  got  something  yghter — some 
sparkling  beverage — for  the  young  lady,  but  chat  she  told  him 
that  she  drank  no  wine.  Why,  he  oaid  to  himself,  he  might 
have  known, 

Ran  blood  as  pifre  and  cool  as  Buminer  rains." 

And  as  this  modest  little  repast  went  on,  perhaps  Vincent  was 
comparing  it  with  the  banquet  of  the  night  beforfc.  Ah ! 
there  had  been  no  entrancement,  no  enthralling  ecstasy  and  de- 
light, about  that  entertainment,  sumptuous  as  it  was.  Here  was 
some  food — he  hardly  looked  at  it;  he  did  not  know  what  it 
wiis,  and  did  not  care — which  would  have  to  bo  paid  for  at  the 
rate  of  3s.  6</.  per  head;  but  as  compared  with  this  frugal  fes- 
tivity, the  splendors  of  the  preceding  evening,  the  masses  of 
roses,  the  pyramids  of  ice,  the  silver  candelabra,  and  all  the  rest, 
shrank  into  insignificance.  Here  there  was  a  nameless  glamour 
filling  all  the  air ;  a  palpitation  of  hope,  and  with  a  curious 
dumb  sense  of  gratitude,  as  if  for  favors  unexpected  and  unde- 
served ;  all  the  coming  yearn  of  his  life  seemed  to  be  shining 
there  in  her  eyes,  so  that  he  hardly  dared  to  look,  so  full  of  fear, 
and  yet  of  a  breathless  joy  and  -wonder,  was  the  revelation  when 
she  happened  to  glance  towards  him.  And  on  her  side  she 
appeared  to  be  a  little  less  reserved  and  distant  than  she  had 
hitherto  been.  She  seemed  grateful  for  the  trouble  the  young 
man  had  taken  on  behalf  of  her  grandfather  and  herself ;  some- 
times, when  in  his  eager  talk  he  saidg^metbiug  that  interested 


—  ™      J.V"  ITJW'.W. 


i 


70 


STAND   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTON  t 


her,  she  raised  her  head,  irith  a  smile  in  her  eyes.  A  wonder- 
fnl  banquet,  truly,  but  not  so  imposing  as  that  of  tie  previous 
night.  He  learned  that  she  was  immensely  fond  of  propelling  a 
gondola  (the  forward  oar  only ;  she  wanted  another  oar  astern 
to  steer),  and  hero  was  another  amazingly  interesting  fact  to  be 
for  ever  and  ever  remembered. 

As  for  the  old  man  (for  the  world  was  not  created  solely  for 
young  folk),  he  was  at  once  gay  and  oracular. 

"These  little  breaks  and  diversions,"  he  was  saying,  as  he 
stirred  his  coffee—the  time  of  cigarettes  had  now  arrived — 
"are  useful  things — useful  things;  an  affair  of  the  moment, 
truly  ;  but  the  wise  man  makes  of  the  passing  moment,  as  much 
as  ho  possibly  can.  Why,  the  real  curse  of  modem  life — the 
ineradicable  disease — is  the  habit  of  continually  looking  before 
and  after.  Wo  none  of  us  think  enough  of  the  pre»cnt  moment ; 
we  are  anxiously  speculating  as  to  the  future  ;  or,  what  is  worse 
still,  fretting  ovc  r  the  memory  of  past  injuries  and  past  mistakes. 
That  is  where  the  uneducated,  the  uniroaginative,  have  their  con- 
solation ;  we  are  not  h&H  8(;^i^py  and  content  as  the  stolid 
ploughman  or  the  phlegmatic  bricUayer  who  thinks  only  of  the 
present  heat,  or  the  present  cold,  or,  at  furthest,  of  the  next  pint 
of  beer,  and  the  prospect  of  getting  to  bed,  with  the  knowledge 
that  he  will  sleep  sound.  The  actual  and  immediate  things  be- 
fore them  are  the  things  that  interest  them ;  not  the  unknown 
future  or  the  useless  past.  Bat  I  have  schooled  myself,  tbanka 
in  a  great  measure  to  Horace — and  my  granddaughter  knows  her 
Horace,  too — and  think  I  keep  as  stout  a  heart  as  most  Bum 
loquitnur,  of  course,  fugerit  invida  cetas  ;  but  even  while  I  know 
that  the  night  presses  down  upon  mc,  and  the  shadowy  fathers, 
and  the  empty  halls  of  Pluto,  I  put  the  knowledge  away  from  me ; 
I  am  content  with  the  present  moment ;  I  am  more  than  content, 
for  example,  with  this  very  excellent  cigarette — " 

"  Would  you  allow  me  to  send  you  a  few  boxes  ?"  interposed 
Vincent  at  once  and  eagerly.  "  I  think  the  cork  mouthpiece 
is  a  great  improvement  I  know  whtjre  they  are  to  be  got  May 
I  send  yon  some !" 

"  I  thank  you :;  but  they  are  not  much  in  my  way,"  the  old 
man  said,- with  a  certain  loftiness  of  demeanor.  "As  I  wa»  re- 
marking, the  time  has  gone  by  for  unavailing  regrets  over  what 
has  been  done  to  mo  andjaine.     I.think  I  may  say  that  thiongh- 


-.iMM^iiMiiM&iM^kS'm;  ■ 


rt 


STAND   rAST,  ORAIG-BOTBTONt 


71 


•  eyes.  A  wonder- 
hat  of  tie  previous 
ond  of  propelling  a 
another  oar  astern 
tereating  fact  to  be 

»t  created  solely  for 

I  was  saying,  as  he 
had  now  arrived — 
air  of  the  moment, 
ng  moment  as  much 
)f  modem  lifo — the 
ualiy  looking  before 
;he  present  moment ; 
■e  ;  or,  what  is  worse 
es  and  past  mistakes, 
ative,  have  their  con- 
:ontent  as  the  stolid 
10  thinks  only  of  the 
lest,  of  the  next  pint 
,  with  till)  knowledge 
immediate  thingu  bo- 
1 ;  not  the  unknown 
looled  rayself,  thanks 
ddaugliter  knows  her 
leart  as  most.    Dum 
ut  even  while  I  know 
the  shadowy  fathers, 
rledge  away  from  n»e ; 
in  more  than  content, 
tie—" 

w  boxes?"  interposed 
the  cork  mouthpiece 
:y  are  to  be  got    May 

in  my  way,"  the  old 
anor. '  "As  I  was.  re- 
ing  regrets  over  what 
may  say  that  th.ongh- 


ont  we  have  shown  a  bold  front  *  Stand  Fa«t,  Craig-BoytUmP 
has  not  been  our  watchword  for  nothing.  And  as  for  the  future, 
why, '  to  the  gods  belongs  to-morrow !'  The  anticipation  of  evil 
will  not  remove  it ;  the  recalling  of  bygone  injuries  provides  no 
compensation.  '  The  present  moment  is  our  ain,  the  next  wi» 
never  saw,'  and  so,  as  we  have  had  a  pleasant  evening  so  far,  I 
think  we  may  as  well  get  away  home  again ;  and,  Maisrie,  you  will 
get  out  your  violin,  and  we'll  have  some  Scotch  songs,  and  my 
young  friend  and  I  will  taste  just  a  drop  of  Scotch  whiskey,  and 
if  there's  any  better  combination  than  that  in  the  world,  I  do  not 
know  of  it" 

But  here  a  very  awkward  incident  occurred.  Old  George 
Bcthune,  in  his  grand  manner,  called  to  the  waiter  to  bring  the 
bill.  Now  Vincent  had  intended  to  steal  out  and  arrange  this 
little  matter  without  allowing  the  young  lady  to  have  any  cogni" 
zance  of  it ;  but,  of  course,  the  waiter,  when  summoned,  came  up 
to  the  table  and  proceeded  to  pencil  out  the  account 

"  I  think,  sir,"  put  in  the  young  man,  modestly,  '*  you'd  better 
let  me  have  that     It  was  my  proposal,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Bethune,  carelessly,  and  an  carelessly 
he  handed  over  the  slip  of  paper  be  had  Just  taken  from  the 
waiter. 

But  the  quick  look  of  pain  and  hahiiliation  that  i-iwept  over 
the  girl's  face  stabbed  the  }roung  man  to  the  heart 

"  Grandfather !"  she  said,  with  a  burning  flush. 

"  Oh,  well,"  her  grandfather  said,  petulantly,  "  I  have  just  dis- 
covered that  I  have  left  ray  purse  behind.  Some  other  time- 
it  is  all  the  same — it  is  immatorial — the  next  time  will  be  my 
tuvn." 

"  Here  is  my  purse,  grandfather,"  she  said ;  and  she  tamed 
with  an  air  of  quiet  firmnens  to  her  younger  neighbor,  and  merely 
said, "  If  yon  please  S"  He  wan  too  bewildered  to  refuse ;  there 
was  something  in  her  manner  that  compelled  him  to  accede  with* 
out  a  word  of  protest  Sho  pushed  her  pnrsei  and  the  slip  of 
paper  across  the  table  to  her  grandfather ;  and  then  she  rose 
and  turned  to  seek  her  sanshade,  which  Vincent  forthwith 
brought  to  her.  The  curifvas  minglittg  of  sirapiicity  and  dignity 
with  which  she  had  interi-tosed  irapresiiied  hint  stxangely :  per- 
haps she  was  not  so  much  of  &  echool-girl  as  she  had  seemed 
when  he  first  saw  her  walking  thiough  Hyde  T'ark.    Then  the 


7S 


STAND   rAST,  CRAIO-BOTSTOMI 


three  of  tbem  left  tne  restaurant  together  and  quietly  made  their 
way  through  the  gathering  twilight 

But  he  would  not  go  in  when  they  arrived  at  their  door,  though 
the  old  man  again  put  Scotch  music  and  Scotch  tyhiskey  before 
him  as  an  inducement  Perhaps  he  dreaded  to  outstay  his  wel- 
come. He  badt)  them  both  good-night;  and  Maisrie  Bethune, 
as  she  parted  from  him,  was  so  kind  as  to  say, "  Thank  you  bo 
much !"  with  the  briefest  timid  glance  of  her  all  too  eloquent 
eyes. 

He  went  across  to  his  own  rooms — merely  for  form's  sake. 
He  did  not  Sight  the  gas  when  he  got  np-stairs.  He  carefully 
shut  the  window ;  then  he  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  very 
gently  and  quietly  he  played  a  graceful  little  air.  It  was  "  Dor- 
mcz,  Donnez,  ma  belle  1"  and  it  was  a  kind  of  farewell  message 
for  the  night ;  but  ho  had  made  sure  that  she  should  not  hear. 


CHAPTER  V. 

QU'  HON  COBUR  XN  HARIAGK, 

Whkk  Maisrie  Betbune  and  her  grandfather  returned  home 
jti^^ter  the  little  dinner  at  the  restauraut  she  went  upnstairs  to  her 
own  room,  while  he  procetded  to  summon  the  landlady's  hus- 
band from  the  lower  deeps.  Forthwith  the  pallid-faced  and  ncr- 
vous-cycd^  Hobson  appeared,  and  he  seemed  to  be  more  obse- 
quious  than  ever  towards  the  great  man  who  had  deigned  to 
patronize  his  bumble  literary  efforts,  and  had  even  got  some  of 
his  verses  printed  in  the  Edinburgh  Wtekly  Chronicle. 

"  Very  hot  evening,  sir — yes,  sir — would  you  like  me  to  go 
&nd  fet^h  you  a  little  ice,  mV  said  he  in  his  eager  desire  to 
please.  "  No  ti'ouble,  sir,  if  agreeable  to  you — remarkably  hot 
for  vfune,  air — theatres  doing  nothing,  sir— only  the  ballet ;  yon 
see,  sir,  the  young  ladies  have  so  little  on  that  they  look  cool 
and  airy-like,  and  I  suppose,  sir,  that's  why  the  ballet  is  sp  '^oya- 
lar — yes,  sir,  my  brother-in-law,  the  theatrical  agent — " 

"  Look  here,  Hobson,"  Mr.  Bethune  observed,  as  if  he  had 
not  hesrd  a  wordy  "  you  have  no  do^bt  noticed  a  young  gentle- 
man who  occupies  iooius  over  the  way  ?" 


I»B9 


wot 


BTAKD   FAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTOW  t 


98 


aietly  inad«  their 

heir  door,  though 
\x  ivbiskey  before 
a  outstay  his  vel* 
Maisrie  Bethune, 
, "  Thank  you  bo 
all  too  eloquent 

for  form's  sake. 
rs.     He  carefully 

piano,  and  very 
ir.  It  was  "  Dor- 
farewell  message 
should  not  hear. 


er  returned  home 
it  upHstairs  to  her 
e  landlady's  hus- 
id-faced  and  ncr- 
to  be  more  obse- 

had  deigned  to 
even  got  some  of 
hronicle. 

on  like  me  to  go 
is  eager  desire  to 

-remarkably  hot 
y  the  ballet ;  you 
lat  they  look  cool 

ballet  is  ap  v^pu- 
agent — " 
red,  as  if  he  bad 
i  a  youag  gentle- 


"  Oh,  yes,  sir — ^a  very  handsome  young  man,"  he  answered— or, 
rather,  what  he  actually  did  say  was,  "  a  werry  ensome  young 


men. 


"  I  have  just  made  his  acquaintance,"  Mr.  Bethune  continued, 
in  his  lofty  fashion,  "  and  naturally  I  should  like  to  know  some- 
thing more  of  him,  though  I  could  not  be  guilty  of  the  rudeness 
of  asking  him  questions  about  himself.  For  example,  I  should 
be  glad  to  know  where  ho  lives — he  only  uses  those  rooms  dur- 
ing the  day,  yon  understand ;  and  I  presume  that  would  be  a 
simple  thing  for  you  to  ascertain^-discreetiy,  I  mean,  discreetly 
— without  any  impertinent  intrusion  1" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  said  Hobson,  his  dull  face  lighting  up  with 
pleasure  at  the  notion  of  being  able  to  do  bin  patron  a  service. 
"  Yes,  yes,  sir,  I  can  find  out ;  what  more  simple  f" 

At  this  very  moment  there  was  the  sound  of  a  door  being  shut 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  Hobson  stepped  to  the  open 
window,  and  instantly  withdrew  his  head  again. 

"  He  has  just  gone  out,  sir ;  I  will  follow  him." 

•'But  discreetly,  Hobson,  discreetly,"  was  the  old  gentle- 
man's final  injunction,  as  his  humble  and  zealous  emissary  de- 
parted. 

When  Maisrie  Bethune  came  down-stairs  again  she  was  in  her 
ordinary  dress  of  striped  linen,  and  she  seemed  pleased  with  the 
evening's  adventure,  and  was  more  talkative  than  usual. 

"  It  will  be  very  pleasant  for  you,  g  andfather,"  said  she,  "  to 
have  so  intelligent  and  interesting  a  neighbor ;  don't  you  think 
so  ?  For  though  ho  is  young,  he  seems  to  know  everything,  and 
to  have  been  everywhere ;  and  I  am  sure  you  and  he,  grand- 
father, found  plenty  of  things  to  talk  about.  I  have  just  been 
wondering  whether  it  is  possible  ho  could  have  come  to  Toronto 
while  we  were  living  there.  Wouldn't  that  have  been  strange  f 
Perhaps  we  have  passed  him  while  we  were  walking  along  King 
Street.  Perhaps  he  may  have  come  round  the  comer  by  the 
Bank  of  Montreal  whea  we  were  going  into  Yonge  Street—and 
not  a  yard  between  us !  But  no,"  she  continued,  musingly,  "  1 
hardly  imagine  it  could  have  been.  I  think  I  should  have  noticad 
him,  and  remembered.  Don't  you  think  you  would  have  noticed 
him,  grandfather  {  He  is  not  like  any  one  else :  I  mean,  he  is 
not  the  kind  of  person  you  would  pass  in  the  stre^  without  re- 
marking ;  I  don't  think  you  would  forget.  Oh,  yes,  I  am  very 
D 


I,;-- 


u 


JITAKD   tABT,  CHAIO-ROTSTOm 


glad  for  your  sake,  grandfather,  that  you  have  made  hia  ac- 
quaintauoe ;  and  I  hope  you  vrill  become  good  friends,  although 
he  is  young.  You  want  av-ao  one  to  talk  to,  and  not  that 
dreadful  Hobson ;  I  can't  bear  your  talking  to  Hobsou,  grand- 
father." 

"  I  am  no  especter  of  persons,  Maisric,"  said  the  old  man, 
pompously,  «'so  long  as  people  know  their  place  and  keep 
it." 

"But  that  is  just  t>?.  worst  of  Hobson,  grandfather !"  she  ex- 
claimed.  "  His  farning  and  cringing  is  so  despicable.  He  is 
not  a  man  at  all.  And  ycu  should  tell  him  the  truth  about  those 
▼etwes  of  uis,  grandfather ;  I  can't  imagine  how  you  see  anything 
in  them — " 

"  There  have  been  worse — there  have  been  worse,"  said  Mr. 
B  thune  with  »  magnanimous  toleration.  "  And  on  the  two  oc- 
casions on  which  I  got  the  Chronicle  to  let  him  see  himself  in 
print,  the  gratitude  of  the  poor  creature  was  quite  pathetic.  A 
little  act  of  kindness  is  never  thrown  away,  Maisrie,  my  dear. 
So  now  you'll  just  get  out  your  violin,  and  for  a  little  while  we 
will  cross  the  Border,  and  forget  that  we  are  here  in  the  heart  of 
this  stifling  London." 

But  Maisrie  begged  to  be  excused.  She  said  she  was  rather 
tired,  and  was  going  back  to  her  room  very  soon.  And,  indeed, 
when  she  had  brought  her  grandfather  his  accustomed  hot  water 
and  sugar  and  spirits,  and  generally  made  everything  comfort- 
able for  him,  she  kissed  him  and  bade  him  good-night  and  went 
away  up-stairs. 

It  was  not  to  go  to  bed,  however.  Having  lit  the  gas,  she 
proceeded  to  hunt  among  ht.  books  until  she  discovered  a  littie 
•Ibum  entitled  "  Views  of  Toronto ;"  and,  having  spread  that 
open  on  her  dressing-table,  she  drew  in  a  chair,  and,  with  her 
elbows  resting  on  the  table,  and  her  head  between  her  hands, 
began  to  pore  over  those  pictures  of  the  long  thoroughfares  and 
the  pavements  and  the  public  buildings.  She  seemed  to  find 
the  rather  ill-executed  lithographs  interesting— so  interesting 
that  we  may  leave  her  there  with  her  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the 
brown  pages. 

Meanwhile  Hobton  had  fulfilled  his  mission,  and  returned 
with  the  address  of  the  house  into  whicb  he  hadrseen  the  yoang 
man  disappear ;  and  net  only  tlAat^  but  hs  volanteered  to  gain 


STAMD   rAST,  ORAta-Rf  rSTOlTt 


u 


tve  made  bia  ac- 
friends,  although 
to,  and  not  that 

0  Uobson,  grand- 
said  the  old  man, 

place  and  keep 

idfatber !"  she  ex- 
Icspicablc.  He  is 
3  truth  about  those 
r  you  see  anything 

1  worse,"  said  Mr. 
Lud  on  the  two  oc- 
lim  see  himself  in 
[]uite  pathetic.  A 
Maisrie,  my  dear. 
>r  a  little  while  wo 
ere  in  the  heart  of 

kid  she  was  rather 
on.  And,  indeed, 
ustomed  hot  water 
erything  comfort- 
tod-night  and  wont 

f  lit  the  gas,  she 
discovered  a  littie 
aving  spread  that 
lair,  and,  with  her 
itween  her  hands, 
thoroughfares  and 
he  seemed  to  find 
ig— so  interesting 
ed  intently  on  the 

ion,  and  returned 
lad-seen  the  yoang 
>lunteered  to  ii^sin 


any  further  information  that  Mr.  Bethimo  might  wish.  It  would 
be  easy  for  him,  he  said,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  one  of  the 
men-servant3  in  Orosvcnoi  Place. 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all  1"  the  old  laan  made  response,  with  an 
affectation  of  indifference.  "  I  hart  i  no  wish  to  pry.  Indeed,  I 
cannot  say  that  I  have  any  particular  curiosity  in  the  matter. 
And  you  need  not  mention  to  any  ol  e  that  I  know  even  as  much 
as  that  I  cannot  recall  now  what  made  me  ask — a  momentary 
impulse — nothing  of  any  consequen  ^o ;  for,  in  truth,  it  matters 
Mttle  to  me  where  the  young  man  lives.  Well,  good-night.  Hob- 
son — and  thank  you." 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  said  Hobson,  with  his  eyes  dwelling  linger- 
ingly  on  the  hot  water  and  whiskey.  But  he  received  no  invi- 
tation ;  for  old  Qeorge  Beth^ine  was  more  ameunblo  to  his  grand- 
daughter's remonstrances  than  he  himself  was  aware,  and  so, 
with  another  effusive  "  Good-nightf"  the  landlady's  husband 
humbly  withdrew. 

Sometimes,  after  Maisrie  had  gone  to  bed,  or  at  least  retired 
to  her  own  room,  her  grandfather  would  wander  away  out  in  the 
streets  by  himself.  The  night  air  was  cool ;  there  *  «i  c  fewer 
passers-by  t«  impede  his  aimless  peregrinations;  t,  ■Aji^xaA  by 
the  dark  and  the  dull  lamplight,  he  could  lift  up  his  .-jm.'.'  and 
sing  "  London's  bonnie  woods  and  braes,"  or  "  Cam'  ye  by 
Athol,"  or  "  There's  nae  Covenant  now,  lassie,"  when  he  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  mood,  as  he  generally  was.  And  on  this  par- 
ticular evening  he  sallied  forth ;  but  the  straightforward  direc- 
tion of  his  steps  showed  that  he  had  an  objective  point.  He 
went  along  Oxiford  Street  and  down  Regent  Street,  and  even- 
tually, by  way  of  Garrick  Street,  Covent  Garden,  and  the  Strand, 
reaching  Fleet  Street,  where  he  stopped  at  a  building  almost 
wjiolly  consisting  of  offices  of  country  newspapers.  At  this 
time  of  the  night  the  place  was  at  its  busiest — a  hive  of  indus- 
try ;  messengers  coming  and  going ;  the  operators  assiduous  at 
the  special  wires ;  the  London  correspondents  constructing  their 
letters  out  of  the  latest  telegrams,  with  a  little  imagination 
thrown  in  here  and  there  to  lend  color.  Old  Gleorge  Bethnne 
ascended  to  the  first-floor,  passed  into  the  premises  owned  by 
the  Edinburgh  Chronicle  (Daily  and.  Weekly),  and  was  admitted 
to  an  inner  room,  where  he  found  Mr.  Courtnay  Fox.  Now,  Mr. 
Fox,  a  heavy  and  somewhat  nngainly  person,  who  rolled  from 


■^CU. 


I 
I 


16 


CTAMD    rAB7,  OKAtO-ROYSTONl 


side  to  side  as  Ijo  crossed  the  room,  and  whose  small  blue  eyea 
twinkled  behind  his  Bpectacles  with  a  sort  of  easy  ai.d  ready 
sarcasm,  did  not  like  being  interrupted ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
Mr.  Bethune  was  a  friend,  or  at  least  a  favored  acquaintance, 
of  the  chief  proprietor  of  the  Chronicle,  and  the  London  corres- 
pondent was  therefore  bound  to  be  civil ;  so  he  asked  the  old 
raan  what  he  could  do  for  him. 

"  If  you  have  anything  for  the  Weekly,"  he  observed,  "  you'd 
much  better  sc  d  it  on  direct  to  Edinburgh  instead  of  sending 
it  dowu  here.  That  wjJl  save  one  postage,  a  point  which  I 
Hhoi;'.d  have  thought  would  occur  to  a  Scotch  niind,"  ho  added, 
with  a  bit.  of  a  half-concealed  grin. 

"  You  are  always  girding  at  Scotland,  Mr.  Fox,"  George  Be- 
thune said,  good-naturedly. 

"  I  ?  01 ,  not  I.  I'm  sure  no  one  admires  the  virtues  of  econ- 
omy and  Irj^ralfty  more  than  I  do.  That  is  why  I  am  pretty 
certain  Shakespeare  most  have  lived  in  Scotland.  I  don't  mean 
'  The  rain  it  raineth  every  day,'  but '  A  tanner  will  last  you  nine 
year.'  Now,  how  could  he  have  learned  that  money  could  be 
made  to  go  so  far  but  by  observation  of  the  Scotch  f" 

"  I  know  this,"  said  the  old  man  with  some  dignity,  "  that  few 
hav9  seen  so  much  of  the  world  as  I  hav6,  in  various  countries 
and  climes;  and  the  most  generous  and  hospitable  people — 
generous  and  hosp-table  to  the  point  of  extravagance — I  have 
ever  met  with  have  invariably  been  the  Scotch.  It  may  suit  you 
to  revile  the  country  from  which  you  get  your  living — " 

"  Oh,  I  meant  nothing  so  serious,  I  assure  you,"  the  ponderous 
journalist  said  at  once.     "  Comfl,  tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  yon.*' 

"  I  should  like  to  look  at  the  PoaUOffice  Directory  first,  if  I 
may." 

Courtnay  Fox  w«.ddled  across  the  room  and  returned  with  the 
heavy  volume ;  Mr.  Bethune  turned  to  the  street  and  number 
that  had  been  furnished  him  by  his  spy,  and  discovered  that  the 
name  given  was  Harland  Harris — no  doubt  Vincent  Harris's 
father. 

"  Ah,  yes  1"  the  old  man  said.  «*  Now  I  can  tell  you  what  I 
want ;  and  I  am  certain  I  have  come  to  the  right  place  for  in- 
formation. For  while  you  revile  my  countrymen,  Mr.  Fox,  be- 
cause you  don't  know  them,  I  wonder  whom  among  your  own 
countrymen,  who  have  any  position  at  all,  you  don't  know  J" 


STAND   FAST,  CKAIO-ROTBTOW I 


n 


small  bino  eyeu 
eusy  a»d  ready 
I  tho  other  hand, 
lk\  acquaintance, 
D  London  correct 
c  asked  tho  old 

(bservcd,  "  you'd 
stofld  of  Bonding 
s  point  which  I 
oind,"  ho  added, 

•"ox,"  George  Bc- 

0  virtues  of  econ- 
f?hy  I  am  pretty 
i.  I  don't  mean 
urill  last  you  nine 

money  could  be 
otcht" 

ignity, "  that  few 
rarious  countries 
pitable  people — 
vagance — I  have 
It  may  suit  you 
living — " 

the  ponderous 

can  do  for  you.*' 
rectory  first,  if  I 

etumed  with  the 
eet  and  number 
scovered  that  the 
Vincent  Harris's 

tell  yon  what  I 
fht  place  for  in- 
en,  Mr.  Fox,  be- 
mong  your  own 
lon'tknowl" 


This  was  an  aoroit  piece  of  flattery ;  for  it  was  a  foible  of  tha 
fat  correspondent  tc  affect  that  he  knew  everybody — and  knew 
no  good  of  anybody. 

"  Of  course  the  mc»n  I  moan  may  be  a  nobody — or  a  nonentity 
— and  a  very  respectable  person  as  well,"  continued  Mr.  Be- 
thune  ;  "  but  his  son,  whose  acquaintance  I  have  made,  talks  as 
if  his  name  were  familiar  to  the  public.     Mr.  Harland  Harris — " 

"  Harland  Harris  I"  tho  journalist  exclaimed,  but  with  much 
omplacency,  for  he  might  have  been  found  wanting.  "Don't 
you  know  Harland  Harris?  of,  at  least,  haven't  you  heard  of 
him?" 

"  I  have  lived  much  out  of  England,"  tho  old  man  said. 

"  And  you  v/ant  mo  to  toll  you  who  and  what  I  irland  Harris 
is  f  Is  that  it  ?  Well,  i  >"•,  I  will.  To  begin  with,"  proceeded 
Mr.  Courtnay  Fox,  with  t.  baleful  light  in  his  small,  twinkling 
eyes,  "  ho  is  a  solemn  and  poiientous  ass — a  pedantic  prig ;  a 
combination  of  dr  ll-sergeant  and  schoolmaster,  with  th?  self- 
aumciency  of — of — I  ion't  know  what.  He  is  an  en'brmously 
wealtny  man,  who  preaches  the  Divine  Beauty  of  Poverty ;  a 
Socialist,  who  would  abolish  tho  income-tax,  and  have  all  tax- 
ation indirect ;  a  Communist,  who  can  eat  only  off  gold  plate. 
This  sham  Jean  Jacques  would  not  only  abandon  his  children — 
he  would  let  tho  whole  human  race  go  to  the  mischief,  as  long 
as  you  left  him  on  a  pinnacle  with  a  MS.  lecture  in  his  hand. 
Harland  Harris  I  Do  you  want  to  know  any  more  ?  Well,  I  will 
tell  you  this :  that  long  ago  his  vanity  would  have  inflated  and 
burst  him,  only  that  he  was  defeated  in  his  candidatnrc  for  the 
Lord  Rectorship  of  Edinburgh  University,  and  that  let  out  a  lit- 
tle of  the  gas.  But  even  now  his  inconsistencies  are  colossal — 
almost  a  madness ;  I  think  he  must  be  drunk  with  a  sense  of  his 
own  superiority,  as  George  Sand  says — " 

"  He  does  not  seem  to  have  made  a  .  ery  favorable  impression 
on  you,"  said  Mr.  Bethune,  sh  vly  and  thoughtfully. 

"  Did  he  ever  on  any  human  being  ?"  the  other  retorted.  "  Not 
any  one  that  I  ever  heard  of !" 

"  And  his  son :  do  you  know  anything  of  him }" 

Mr.  Courtnay  Fox  was  not  likely  to  admit  that  he  knew  noth- 
ing. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  scornfully,  "  the  en/ant  g&ti  of  the  political 
world,  Mr.  Grandison,  has  made  a  pet  of  him ;  and  so  people 


it 


78 


STAND  VAST,  ORAIO-ROrsrONI 


I" 


!f. 


'magino  thore  is  Homcthing  in  him.  Oi  '^ourso  hoMI  Ulk  for  a 
'  Y  years  about  universal  brotherhood  and  !he  advarcuroont  of 
iiiiinanity  and  tliat  kind  of  ntnfT;  and  then,  when  ho  succeeds 
to  his  father's  money,  ho'i!  mako  a  bid  fo  u  peerage,  or  else 
marry  a  widowed  and  withered  countess,  and  subside  into  a 
solid,  substantial,  beef- headed  bulwark  of  the  Tory  i>arty.  TLat's 
the  way  they  all  go  I" 

"  Well,  I'm  very  much  obliged,"  said  old  George  Bethune, 
rising,  "and  sorry  to  have  interrupted  you.  Good-night — and 
thanks." 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  journalist  curtly,  as  he  turned  to  his 
desk  again,  and  its  litter  of  reports  and  telegrams. 

Next  morning,  when  they  were  about  to  set  forth  on  their  ac- 
customed stroll,  Maisrio  paused  at  the  door  for  a  second,  and 
srid,  with  a  very  curious  hesitation,  and  a  face  grown  rose-red, 

"  Grandfather,  what  shall  I  tell  Mrs.  Ilubson  you  would  like 
for  dinner  ?" 

Ho  did  not  notice  her  confusion ;  ho  answen  d,  carelessly, 

"  Oh,  never  nu.id  just  now.  Later  on  we  will  see.  Food  is 
not  of  much  importance  in  this  hot  weather." 

Thereafter  she  was  silent  for  some  considerable  time.  •  It  was 
not  until  they  had  got  down  to  the  Serpentine,  and  when  ho  was 
about  to  take  out  bis  newspaper,  that  she  ventured  again  to  ad- 
dress him. 

"  Grandfather,"  slie  said,  timidly,  '=  do  you  think — Mr.  Harris 
—-expects  us — expects  that  we  should  dine  together  again  this 
evening  f  Ho  did  ask  if  we  had  no  engagemout,.and — aad  per- 
haps he  ivuiy  imagine  there  is  some  understanding — " 

"  Wi'l],  Muisrie,"  the  old  man  made  answer,  with  a  playful 
irony,  "  if  your  way  of  it  is  to  be  carried  out,  the  arrangement 
wouldn't  last  very  long.  I  don't  suppose  our  little  income  could 
comfortably  support  three  for  any  great  space  of  time." 

"  Oh,  but,  grandfather,"  she  said,  persuasively,  "  you  know  it 
was  but  right  you  should  pay  ;  we  were  two,  and  he  only  one ; 
of  course,  if  we  are  to  dine  together  again — and  he  wished  it  to 
be  his  tun — you  might  divide — " 

"  I  think,  Maifc-rie,"  said  he,  somewhat  sententiously,  "  it  would 
be  better  for  you  to  leave  our  small  financial  affairs  in  my  hands. 
These  things  are  well  understood  as  between  men ;  it  is  easy  to 
make  an  arrangement.     Especially  easy  if  you  are  the  only  sod 


■,fe\':-vtfi-hflfe-*rt;^  m'">"". 


I  ho'll  Ulk  for  a 
advancuroont  of 
len  ho  succeeds 
peerage,  or  else 
subside  into  a 
ry  party.   TLat's 

jeorge  Bethune, 
j^ood-night — and 

he  turned  to  hia 
fns. 

'orth  on  their  ac- 

>r  a  second,  and 

grown  rose-red, 

I  you  would  like 

■d,  carelessly, 
ill  see.     Food  is 


l)lo  time.  •  It  was 
and  when  he  was 
ired  again  to  ad- 

link — Mr.  Harris 
pother  again  this 
t,.and — aad  per- 

ng-" 

,  with  a  playfiri 
the  arrangement 
<X\e  income  could 
>f  time." 
f,  "  you  know  it 
nd  he  only  one ; 
he  wished  it  to 

usly, "  it  would 
irs  in  my  hands, 
m ;  it  is  easy  to 
ire  the  only  son 


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BTAHD  FAST,  0BAia*B0T8T0N  I 


f9 


of  a  vnvy  wealthy  man.  What  are  «  few  shillings  or  a  few 
sovereigns  one  way  or  the  other  to  hint  t  And  I  wish  you  to  re- 
member that  a  yonng  lady's  parse  is  not  osnally  produced  at  a 
restaurant." 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  did  anything  wrong,  grandfather,"  she  said, 
humbly ;  "  but — but  I  thought — before  a  stranger — or  almost  a 
stranger — it  was  a  pity  you  had  forgotten — " 

He  had  opened  the  newspaper,  so  that  the  subject  was  dis- 
missed ;  and  Maisrie  was  left  to  her  absent  dreams  and  reveries. 

All  that  day  there  came  no  message  from  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  and  likewise  the  afternoon  wore  away  in  silence ;  while 
Maisrie,  whatever  she  hoped  or  feared,  had  not  again  asked  her 
grandfather  what  arrangements  he  proposed  for  the  evening. 
About  six  o'clock,  however,  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door  below. 
Maisrie  wad  in  her  room  up-stairs.  Her  grandfather  was  seated 
at  the  little  table  in  the  parlor,  drawing  out  in  water-color  a  coat- 
of-arms;  and  he  had  fdready  finished  the  Bethune  part  of  it — 
that  is  to  say,  the  first  and  fourth  quarters  of  the  shield  were 
argent,  with  a  fesse  between  three  mascles,  or ;  and  likewise  he 
had  surmounted  it  with  the  crest — an  otter's  head,  erased,  ppr.; 
but  as  the  second  and  third  quarters  were  still  vacant,  it  was  im- 
possible to  say  with  which  other  family  he  proposed  to  claim 
alliance.  At  this  moment  Vincent  made  his  appearance  at 
the  door,  looking  very  cheerful  and  good-humored,  and  modest 
withal ;  and  he  came  into  the  room  as  if  he  already  felt  quite  at 
home  there. 

«  I  have  taken  a  little  liberty,"  said  he,  "  with  regard  to  this 
evening.  I  understood  that  you  and  Miss  Bethune  had  no  en- 
gagement, and  might  think  of  going  to  that  same  restaurant 
again ;  but  then  I  thought  yon  might  prefer  a  change ;  apd  so  I 

have  ordered  dinner  at  the ."    And  he  named  a  well-known 

hotel  in  the  neighborhood  of  Burlington  Gardens. 

"  Oh,  you  have  ordered  dinner!" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Vincent,  respectfully  ;  and  then,  seeing  there 
was  no  objection,  he  went  on  with  a  gayer  air :  "  It  does  seem 
absurd  that  when  people  want  to  meet  each  other,  and  to  talk, 
and  get  thoroughly  acquainted,  they  must  needs  sit  down  and 
eat  together ;  but  there  is  some  sense  in  it,  too ;  for,  of  course, 
we  hr  /e  all  of  us  our  different  occupations  during  the  day ;  and 
dinner-time  is  the  time  at  which  we  all  find  ourselves  free,  so  that 


80 


STAND   rABT,  ORAIO-BOTSTON I 


the  meeting  is  easily  arranged.  I  hope  Miss  Bnthune  wssn^t 
fatigued  after  her  long  walk  of  last  evening — "  :;:  •^'f 

"Ob,  no,  no,"  said  her  grandfather,  rising  and  going  to  the 
door.  "  I  must  call  and  tdi  her  we  are  going  oat  by-and- 
by-" 

"  Yes,  but  of  course  she  is  coming,  too !"  the  young  man  said, 
quickly. 

"  If  she  likes — if  she  likes.  I  myself  should  prefer  it.  I  will 
ask  her." 

And  on  this  occasion  also,  when  she  came  down-stairs,  Maisrie 
Bethune  appeared  in  that  simple  dress  of  cream-colored  cash- 
mere, and  agiun  he  war  struck  by  the  alteration  in  her  aspect :  she 
was  no  longer  the  t;^7  and  timid  school-girl  he  had  at  first  im- 
agined her  to  be,  but  a  young  woman,  of  quite  sufficient  self- 
possession,  tall,  and  elegant  in  bearing,  and  with  moie  than  a 
toDch  of  graceful  dignity  in  her  manner.  This  time  she  smiled 
as  she  gave  him  her  habd  for  a  moment ;  and  then  she  turned 
away ;  always  she  seemed  to  assume  that  this  newly-found  re- 
lationship existed  only  as  between  her  grandfather  and  the  yonng 
man ;  that  she  was  outside  of  it,  and  only  to  bo  called  in  as  an 
adjunct,  now  and  again  when  it  happened  to  suit  them. 

Nevertheless,  as  they  by-and-by  walked  away  down  to  Bur- 
lington Gardens,  she  was  much  more  animated  and  talkative 
than  he  had  before  seen  her ;  and  he  observed,  too,  that  her 
grandfather  paid  heed  to  her  opinions.  Nay,  she  addressed  the 
younger  of  her  two  companions  also,  occasionally ;  and  now  she 
was  not  afraid  to  k  l  a  smile  dwell  in  her  eyes,  when  she  chanced 
to  turn  to  him.  He  was  bewildered  by  it  all ;  it  was  more,  far 
more,  than  he  dared  have  hoped  for ;  In  fact,  he  was  the  last 
person  in  the  world  to  suspect  that  his  own  bearing — the  buoy- 
ant, nnconscioQ.^  audacity,  the  winning  frankness,  as  well  as  a 
certain  youthful  modesty — was  at  the  root  of  the  mystery  of 
this  sudden  friendship.  For  one  thing,  he  had  told  them  a  good 
deal  about  himself  and  his  circumstances  during  that  morning 
in  Hyde  Park  and  during  the  previous  afternoon  and  evening; 
and  there  was  something  in  the  position  of  these  three  folk,  now 
brought  together  after  wide  wanderings  through  the  world,  that 
seemed  to  invite  confidence  and  intimacy.  Then,  old  George 
Bethune  had  an  excellent  fund  of  good-fellowship,  so  long  as  the 
:eseQt  moment  was  an  enjoyable  one. 


"'' 


BTAHD   VABTi  CRAIO-ROTBTON I 


81 


^tbuno  wasn^t 

.  going  to  the 
oat  by-and- 

ung  man  said, 

efer  it    I  vill 

stairs,  Maisrie 
•colored  cash- 
er  aspect :  she 
id  at  first  im- 
lufiicient  self- 
i  moi^  than  a 
ne  she  smiled 
en  she  tamed 
wly-found  re- 
ind  the  yonng 
ailed  in  as  an 
bhem. 

[own  to  Bur- 

and  talkative 

too,  that  her 

addressed  the 

and  now  she 

she  chanced 

TKS  more,  far 

was  the  last 

J — the  bnoy- 

as  well  as  a 

mystery  of 

them  a  good 

lat  morning 

tnd  evening; 

ree  folk,  now 

e  world,  that 

old  Gkorge 

o  long  as  the 


And,  as  it  turned  ont^  this  evening  proved  to  be  one  of  thoso 
enjoyable  moments.  The  small  festivity  to  which  Vincent  had 
invited  his  new  acquaintances  was  not  in  the  least  the  haphazard 
affair  he  had  half-intimated  it  to  be ;  he  had  arranged  it  with 
they  found  themselves  in  a  pretty  room,  with  plenty  of 


care: 


flowers  on  the  table,  while  the  little  banquet  itself  was  far  more 
elaborate,  both  as  regards  food  and  wine,  than  there  was  any 
call  for.  The  old  gentleman  did  not  protest ;  anything  that  hap- 
pened, so  long  as  it  was  pleasant,  was  welcome  to  him ;  and  he 
declared  the  claret  to  be  as  excellent  as  any  he  had  met  with  for 
years  back.  He  could  not  understand  why  their  youthful  host 
would  not  join  him  (as  if  it  were  likely  that  Vincent  was  going 
to  drink  wine  now  that  he  discovered  that  Maisrio  Bethune 
drank  only  water !),  but  he  had  all  che  mo^e  for  himself,'  and  he 
waxed  eloquent  and  enthusiastic  on  his  favorite  theme. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  kind  of  proud  elation  in  his  tone, 
"  I  myself  beard  Henry  Ward  Beecher  pronounce  these  words  in 
the  City  Hall  of  Glasgow :  '  I  have  been  reared  in  a  country 
whose  history  is  brief.  So  vast  is  it,  that  one  might  travel  night 
and  day  for  all  the  week,  and  yet  scarcely  touch  historic  girouud. 
Its  history  is  yet  to  be  written,  it  is  yet  to  be  acted.  But  I  come 
to  this  land,  which,  though  small,  is  &8  full  of  memories  as  the 
heaven  is  fall  of  stars,  and  almost  as  bright.  There  is  not  the 
most  insignificant  piece  of  water  that  does  not  make  my  heart 
thrill  with  some  story  of  heroism,  or  some  remembered  poem, 
for  not  only  has  Scotland  had  the  good-fortune  to  have  men 
who  knew  how  to  make  history  heroic,  but  she  has  reared  those 
bards  who  have  known  how  to  sing  their  deeds.  And  every 
steep  and  every  valley,  and  almost  every  single  league  on  which 
my  feet  have  trod,  have  made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  walking  in  a 
dream.  I  never  expected  to  find  my  eyes  overflow  with  tears 
of  gladness  that  I  have  been  permitted,  in  the  prime  of  life,  to 
look  upon  this  beloved  land.'  Well  spoken,  nobly  spoken  f 
When  I  take  my  granddaughter  here  to  visit  her  native  country 
— for  to  that  country  she  belongs,  in  all  the  essentials  of  blood 
and  tradition  and  descent — I  hope  she  will  be  in  a  similarly  re- 
ceptive mood ;  and  will  see,  not  the  bare  hills,  not  the  lonely  isl- 
ands, not  the  desolate  moors,  but  a  land  filled  with  the  magic  of 
association,  and  consecrated  by  the  love  and  devotion  of  a  thou- 
sand song-writers,  known  and  unknown.  .  I  will  say  with  Joha 
6 


t9 


BTAITD   VAST,  CRAICHROTBTOVI 


son,  'That  man  is  little  to  be  envied  whose  patriotism  wonld 
not  gain  force  upon  the  plain  of  Bannockburn,  or  whoso  pietj 
wonld  not  grow  warmer  among  the  rains  of  lona.* " 

"  Not  Bannockburn — Marathon,  wasn't  it,  grandfather  f  said 
Maisrie  in  her  gentle  way. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  not  heeding  the  interruption.  " '  Almost 
every  single  league,'  said  Ward  Bcecher',  and  that  is  true.  I 
could  make  a  pilgrimage  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
Scotland  guided  by  the  finger  of  Scottish  song.  Indeed,  I 
have  often  thought  I  should  like,  if  the  years  were  spared  to  me, 
to  collect  materials  for  a  volunie — a  splendid  and  magnificent 
volume — on  the  Scotland  of  the  Scotch  songs  and  ballads.  The 
words  and  the  music  are  already  there,  and  I  would  have  the 
pencil  add  its  charm,  so  that  Scotland,  in  her  noblest  and  fairest 
aspects,  might  be  placed  before  the  stranger,  and  migu«  be  wel> 
comed  once  again  by  her  ovm  sons.  I  wo.'M  have  the  lonely 
Braes  o'  Balwhidder,  and  Rob  Roy's  grave  in  the  little  church- 
yard on  the  hillside;  I  would  have  Tannahill's  Arranteenie,  that 
is  on  Loch  Long  side,  I  think,  and  the  Bonnie  House  o'  Airlie : 

" '  It  fell  on  a  day,  a  bonnie  summer's  day, 
il^(.^'i  When  the  com  grew  green  and  fairlv,  •'    .=^  ^ 

That  the  great  Argvle,  wi'  a'  his  men, 
Cam'  to  plunder  the  bonnie  house  o'  Airlie.' 

Then  the  Vale  of  Yarrow.  Well,  perhaps  that  would  have  to 
be  a  figure  subject,  the  grief-stricken  maiden  bending  over  the 
body  of  her  slain  lover : 

"  'Pale  though  thou  art,  yet  best,  yet  best  beloved, 
0  oould  my  warmth  to  life  restore  thee  I — 
Te'd  lie  all  night  between  my  breasts ; 
No  youth  lay  ever  there  before  thee.* 

-And  Colonsay,  Ley  den's  Colonsay,  the  haunted  island  that 
mourns  like  a  sea-shell : 

*"  And  ever  as  the  year  returns, 

The  oharm-bound  sailors  know  the  day ; 
For  sadly  still  the  mermaid  mourns 
The  lovely  chief  of  Colonsay.' 

OaU  Water,"  the  old  man  continued,  in  a  sort  of  exalted  rhap- 
sody ;  and  his  eyes  were  absect,  as  if  he  were  beholding  a  suc- 
cession of  visions,  "  Hunting  Tower,  Craigie-burn  Wood,  the 
solitude  sought  out  by  Bessie  Bell  and  her  girl  companion  when 


tTAKD   rABT,  ORAIO-ROTBTOirt 


88 


triotism  would 
»r  whoBO  piety 

dfatherr'said 

ibri.  "'Alnaoit 
lat  is  tnio.  I 
ind  breadth  of 
ig.  Indeed,  I 
i  spared  to  me, 
td  magnificent 
ballads.  The 
rould  have  the 
lest  and  fairest 
mig^^  be  weU 
ave  the  lonely 
>  little  church- 
ranteenie,  that 
ouseo'  Airlie: 


irlic' 

7ould  have  to 
tding  over  the 

ed, 


d  island  that 


exalted  rhap- 
olding  a  suc- 
Wood,  the 
npanion  when 


they  fled  from  the  pUgne ;  Ettrick  Banks,  the  bash  aboon  Tra- 
quair — in  short,  an  endless  series  I  And  where  the  pencil  may 
fail,  imagination  must  come  in : 

"  *  I  ice,  but  not  by  light  alone, 

■■-ih  ■  ^  -itis     Loved  Yarroir,  h»TeI  won  th«e»     '■^  m-^^p 
;  '^  i«,4  A  ray  of  fancy  atiU  Barvivea — 

Her  Bunahine  playa  upon  thee  1* 

It  would  be  something  to  do  for  the  sake  of  '  puir  anld  Scot* 
land,'  and  think  what  an  enchanted  wandering  that  would  be  for 
both  Maisrie  and  myself.  Tweed  and  Teviot,  the  silver  Forth, 
the  stately  Clyde.  Well,  perhaps  she  would  be  better  pleased 
to  gather  a  flower  or  two — a  lucken-gowan  or  a  speedwell—on 
*  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Ayr.'  " 

"  But,  grandfather,"  Maisrie  Bethune  interposed,  '*  before  yon 
can  begin  such  a  book,  or  even  think  of  it,  you  know  there  is 
something  else  to  b<    lone." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  an  expensive  volume  to  bring  out  t" 
Vincent  suggested,  inquiringly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  the  old  man  said.  And  now  he  had  relin- 
quished that  rhapsodical  strain,  and  had  assumed  his  usual  dig- 
nified, not  to  say  grandiose,  demeanor.  "The  drawings  must 
be  done  by  the  first  artists ;  they  must  not  fall  below  the  poetic 
pitch  of  the  old  ballads  and  the  still  older  airs.  It  would  be  an 
expensive  book  to  bring  out,  no  doubt,  but  then  it  would  be  a 
noble  undertaking ;  it  would  be  a  sumptuous  and  valuable  work. 
I  should  think,  now,"  he  went  on,  reflectively,  "  that  there  ought 
to  be  a  large  paper  edition,  and  perhaps  five  guineas  would  not 
be  too  much  to  charge — quarto,  I  mean — quarto,  and  five  guin- 
eas for  such  a  handsome  volume  raightn't  be  too  much — " 

"  Five  guineas  1"  repeated  Vincent.  "  Well,  sir,  if  you  choose 
to  bring  out  the  book  by  subscription,  I  will  undertake  to  get 
you  fifty  subscribers  for  that  edition."  And  then  he  added, 
recklessly:  "A  hundred  —  I  will  assure  you  a  hundred  sub- 
scribers I" 

<*  No,  Mr.  Harris,"  said  Maisrie,  and  she  addressed  herself  in 
a  more  direct  manner  than  she  had  ever  yet  done  to  the  young 
man.  "  It  is  not  to  ^e  thought  of.  My  grandfather  has  work 
to  do  that  he  must  finish  before  entertaining  any  other  schemes. 
It  would  be  simply  wasting  time  to  begin  an4  arrange  abont 
another  book," 


<5 


84 


BTAWD   WAVt,  ORAIO-ROrSTOin 


He  felt  himself  silenced  and  humbled,  be  hardly  know  why. 
Had  she  construed  bis  proffered  assistance  into  an  offer  of 
charity,  and  resented  it  accordingly  t  ^  But  be  could  find  no  trace 
of  offended  pride  in  the  refined  and  gentle  features  when  next  ho 
ventured  to  look  at  her.  She  had  said  her  say,  and  that  was 
enough.  And  her  grandfather  seemed  to  know  she  was  in  the 
right.  Nothing  further  was  mentioned  about  the  new  proposal, 
at  least  at  this  particular  time.  Dessert  had  come,  and  the 
bnsiness  of  choosing  from  among  those  abundant  fruits  made  a 
kind  of  break. 

When  at  length  they  were  about  to  depart,  there  was  no  con- 
fnsiou  about  the  bill,  for  Vincent  intimated  to  the  old  man  that 
be  had  already  arranged  about  that,  and  Mr.  Bethnne  seemed 
satisfied,  while  Maisrie  had  passed  on  in  front  and  did  not  hear. 
She  was  very  light-hearted  and  talkative  as  they  walked  away 
home.  Her  protest  against  the  proposed  publication,  if  it 
showed  a  little  firmness  at  the  time,  bad  left  no  pained  feeling 
behind  it.  She  was  now  as  blithe  as  a  bird ;  to  Vincent  she 
seemed  to  shed  a  radiance  around  her,  as  if  she  were  some  super- 
natural being,  as  she  passed  through  those  twilight  streets.  Once 
Ihe  said  something  in  French — in  Canadian  French — to  her 
grandfather,  and  the  young  man  thought  that  never  in  all  his 
life  had  he  heard  anything  j"'  sweet  and  fascinating  as  the  soft 
and  blurred  sound  of  the  r'fl.  He  was  to  hear  a  little  more  of 
that  Canadian  French  on  this  evening.  When  they  reached 
their  lodgings,  the  old  gentleman  again  asked  his  young 
friend  to  come  in  for  a  little  while.  The  temptation  was  too 
great;  he  yielded,  and  followed  them  up  into  the  dusky  small 
parlor. 

"Now  we  will  have  a  serious  smoke,"  said  (George  Bethnne 
with  decision,  aa  he  took  down  his  long  clay  pipe.  "  A  cigar- 
ette after  dinner  is  a  mere  frivolity.  Maisrie,  lass,  bring  over 
that  box  of  cigars  for  Mr.  Harris." 

But  Mr.  Harris  firmly  declined  to  smoke,  even  as  he  had  de- 
clined to  take  any  wine.  What  was  he  going  to  sacrifice  next 
as  a  subtle  tribute  to  the  exalted  character  of  thby  young  creat- 
ure ?  Maisrie  Bethune  seemed  hardly  to  understand,  and  was  a 
little  surprised ;  but  now  she  had  to  go  away  up-stairs  to  lay 
aside  her  things,  so  the  two  men  were  loft  alone,  to  chat  about 
the  affairs  of  the  day  until  her  return. 


STAIID   rAIT,  ORAIO-ROTBTOiri 


86 


I 


J  know  why. 
an  offer  of 
1  find  no  trace 
when  next  Iio 
and  that  was 
lie  was  in  the 
new  proposal, 
>nie,  and  the 
Fruits  made  a 


B  was  no  con- 
old  man  that 
hnne  seemed 
did  not  hear, 
walked  away 
lication,  if  it 
tained  feelings 
'  Vincent  she 
«  some  snper- 
streets.  Once 
ench— to  her 
iTcr  in  all  his 
>g  as  the  soft 
little  more  of 
they  reached 
his  young 
ition  was  too 
dusky  small 


orge  Bethune 
"A  cigar- 
,  bring  over 

ks  he  had  de- 
sacrifice  next 
young  creat- 
d,  and  was  a 
HStairs  to  lay 
JO  chat  about 


When  she  came  down  again,  her  grandfather  said : 

"Sing  something,  Maisric." 

"  You  know  I  can't  sing,  grandfather,  but  I  never  refuse  yon, 
for  it  is  not  of  any  use,"  said  she,  contentedly,  as  she  took  the 
violin  out  of  its  case.  "But  Mr.  Harris  has  had  enough  of 
Scotch  songs  this  evening.  I  must  try  something  else.  And 
perhaps  you  m'.y  have  heard  the  air  in  Canada,"  she  added,  ad- 
dressing the  young  man  from  on*^.  of  the  partial  darkness. 

And  now  what  was  this  new  enchantment  she  was  about  to 
disclose  and  practise  f  In  plain  truth,  she  had  a  very  little  voice, 
but  he  did  not  notice  that ;  it  was  the  curiously  naKve  and  sim- 
ple and  sincere  expression  of  tone  that  thrilled  through  his 
iieart  as  she  proceeded  to  recite  rather  than  to  sing  the  well- 
known  "  C'6tait  une  frdgate,"  the  violin  aiding  her  with  its  low 
and  plaintive  notes : 

'"C«UUunefrdg«te 
'  (Mod  joll  coear  de  rose) 

Dans  lamer  a  toach6 
(JoU  coror  d'an  rosier).' 

And  here,  again,  were  those  softly  slurred  r's — not  sharply 
trilled,  as  in  the  English  fashion — but  gentle  and  half-concealed, 
as  it  were.    The  simple  story  proceeded  : 

f  ^■mfi7.i^-<^^<i^ .  Y ,„,t  „„,  demoiBelle 
ii'i^^iM  Jfe  (jion  joH  ocear  de  roM) 

:  *v  i,.ava«t  8u'  r  bond  d'  la  mer  pleurait 

(JoU  ooBur  d'un  roaier).  ^ 

" '  — Dites  moi  done,  la  belle 
(Mon  joU  ceaur  de  roaeX 
Qu'  a'  V0U8  k  tant  pleurer  f 
(JoU  c«eur  d'un  rosier). 

" '  — Je  pleur'  mon  anneao  d'or 
< ,.,  (Hon  joli  cam-  de  roae) 

't  Dans  la  mer  est  tomb6 

(JoU  ooBur  d'un  roaier)i'  ** 

Then  he  asks  the  weeping  damsel  what  she  would  give  to  any 
one  who  would  find  for  her  her  ring  of  gold  that  has  fallen  into 
the  sea : 

"' — Je  iuis  trop pauvre  fiUe 

(Hon  JoU  coeur  de  meX  ' 

Je  ne  puis  rien  donner, 

(JoU  coenr  d'un  rosier)^ 


N  ITAIID   VA8V,  ORAIO-mOTSTOm 

*      " '  Qu*  mon  ooaur  en  roarlaga  ■          '*     ;-»i*S^; 

(Mod  JuH  oosur  de  roae)  .i%'.';;i 

.  ^                 Pour  roon  aniiMU  dor6  »    i  i     V"  i^ 

(JoU  coBur  d'un  ronler).' "  "    '.      ■     **/*f. 

But  tbo  yonng  man  sitting  thero  in  tho  twilight  hardly  heard 
further  than  that  Tho  phraso  *'  Qu'  mon  cceur  en  niariage  " 
had  something  more  beautiful  in  it  than  oven  tbo  soft  sound  of 
the  /s  ~s  she  pronounced  them ;  it  dwelt  in  his  heart  with  a 
mysterious  charm  ;  oven  as  she  went  on  to  toll  how  the  bold 
gallant  who  dived  for  tho  ring  of  gold  was  drowned,  what  ^^ 
still  seemed  to  hear  was,  '*  Je  ne  puis  rien  donner,  qu'  mon  cceur 
en  mariago ;"  and  when  she  had  finished,  and  there  was  silence, 
he  did  not  speak ;  there  was  a  kind  of  bewilderment  in  the  tones 
of  her  voice,  and  he  could  not  offer  her  commonplace  thanks. 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  light  the  gas,"  she  said,  cheerfully,  as 
she  laid  aside  her  violin ;  *'  and,  grandfather,  you  can  challenge 
Mr.  Harris  to  a  game  of  chess  or  draughts  or  dominoes,  which- 
ever he  likes  best,  so  that  I  may  get  to  my  work,  for  it  cannot 
always  be  playtime." 

And  so  it  was  that,  when  the  gas  had  been  lit,  she  returned 
to  her  own  corner  and  to  her  needlework,  while  her  grandfather 
8"d  Vincent  took  to  dominoes,  the  old  man  having  his  hot 
water  and  whiskey  brought  to  him  to  accompany  his  second  pipe. 
Dominoes  is  a  mechanical  game ;  you  can  play  well  enough  even 
if  there  is  the  refrain  of  a  song  ringing  through  your  memory. 
The, young  man  did  not  care  who  won;  and,  indeed,  ho  had 
quite  forgotten  who  was  tho  victor,  as  ho  shortly  thereafter  made 
his  way  south  through  the  lamp-lit  streets,  with  his  lips  half  try- 
ing  to  repronounco  that  strangely  fascinating  phrase,  "  Qu'  mon 
coeur  en  mariago — qu'  mon  coaur  en  mariago." 

Well,  this  was  but  tho  beginning  of  a  series  of  evenings,  un- 
til it  came  to  be  understood  that  these  three  dined  together 
each  night,  subsequently  returning  to  Mr.  Bethune's  rooms  for 
a  little  music  or  dominoes  before  parting.  Vincent  assumed 
the  management  of  these  modest  little  merrymakings,  varied  the 
scene  of  them  as  much  as  possible,  and  so  arranged  matters 
that  no  financial  question  camo  up  to  ask  for  Maisrio  Bethune's 
interference.  It  is  true  she  sometimes  seemed  inclined  to  re- 
main at  home,  so  as  to  leave  the  two  men  greater  freedom,  per- 
haps ;  but  he  would  not  hear  of  that,  and  his  ever-increasing 


■TAKD   rAIT,  OBAIO-KOTtTOII  t 


87 


hardly  heard 
■  en  niariage" 
soft  sound  of 
1  heart  with  a 
how  tiie  bold 
wned,  what  *>« 
,  qu'  mon  coejr 
re  was  silence, 
:nt  in  the  tones 
>lace  thanks. 
,  cheerfully,  as 
1  can  challenge 
minocs,  which- 
[,  for  it  cannot 

t,  she  returned 
icr  grandfather 
laving  his  hot 
is  second  pipe, 
ill  enough  even 
your  memory, 
ndeed,  ho  had 
leroafter  made 
lips  half  try- 
ISO,  "  Qu'  mon 

evenings,  un- 
ined  together 

's  rooms  for 
icent  assumed 
igs,  varied  the 
nged  matters 
lie  Bethune's 
nclined  to  re- 

'reedom,  per- 
ver-increasing 


intimacy  now  lent  him  a  franker  authority.     He  waa  high-.ianded 
in  his  ways ;  she  smiled,  and  yielded. 

At  last  there  came  a  proposition  that  was  somewhat  startling 
in  its  boldness.  Cunniugly  he  deferred  bringing  it  forward  un< 
til  the  very  end  of  the  evening,  for  then  h<«  knew  that  tho  old 
gentleman  would  be  more  inclined  to  welcome  any  gay  and 
aiu'.  icious  scheme,  without  particularly  weighing  pros  and  cons. 
Accordingly,  having  chosen  his  opportunity,  he  informed  them 
that  he  had  been  offered  the  use  of  a  house-boat  during  the 
Henley  week  (which  was  literally  true ;  ho  had  been  offered  it 
for  the  sum  of  £S0),  and  said  that  he  had  a  great  mind  to  ac- 
cept if  only  he  could  persuade  Mr.  Bethune  and  his  grand- 
daughter to  go  down  as  his  guests. 

"I  understood  you  to  say,"  he  continued,  without  giving 
either  of  them  time  to  reply,  "  that  you  had  never  seen  Uenley 
at  the  regatta-time.  But  it  is  a  thing  you  ought  to  see — it  is 
the  prettiest  sight  in  England — it  is  perfectly  unique — there  ia 
nothing  else  like  it  in  the  world.  And  then  they  make  those 
house-boats  so  comfortable ;  it  ia  !jimply  a  small  floating  home ; 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  you  can  sit  outside  and  be  in  the  very 
midst  of  all  the  fun.  There  is  no  scramble — no  crowd — no 
hustling — so  far  as  we  are  concerned ;  and  we  shall  have  our 
own  cook  and  steward.  If  you  do  not  care  to  stay  the  whole 
week,  we  could  go  down  on  Tuesday  afternoon — the  races  begin 
on  Wednesday— and  remain  for  the  illuminations  and  fireworks 
on  Friday  night.  It  would  be  awfully  good-natured  of  you 
both ;  of  course  I  could  not  think  of  going  down  and  occupy- 
ing a  house -boat  by  myself.  Now  what  do  you  say.  Miss 
Bethune  ?    I  appeal  first  to  you." 

"  Yes,  what  do  you  say,  Maisrie  ?"  the  old  man  said,  seeing 
that  his  granddaughter  hesitated ;  and  then  ho  added,  with  a 
condescending  smile :  "A  question  of  dress,  is  it !  I  have  heard 
that  the  costumes  at  Henley  are  rather  extravagant." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,  no,"  the  young  man  protested.  (He  would 
have  sworn  that  the  sky  was  pea -green  if  that  would  have 
helped.)  "They  are  quite  simple  summer  dresses — light  in 
color,  of  course — oh,  yes — but  quite  plain  and  simple;  who 
would  take  gorgeous  gowns  to  go  boating  i" 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  Mr  Bethune  said,  with  an  easy  good- 
nature.   "  I  will  answer  for  both  Maisrie  and  myself ;  we  shall 


M 


■TAIIO    FAIT,  ORAIO-IIOTSTOII I 


b«  dolightod.  Let  um  know  the  conditions ;  let  at  know  wh*t 
may  bu  oxpoctod  of  uh  ;  wo  are  old  travullers,  and  ready  for 
anything.  And  don't  you  bo  over-particular  about  your  prepa- 
rations, my  young  friend ;  wo  can  rough  it ;  and,  indeed,  I'm 
afraid  of  lato  wo'vo  boon  falling  into  aomewhat  too  luxurioua 
ways.  Not  that  I  am  an  anchorite.  No — Ood  forbid ;  if  the 
prt'Hcnt  moment  comnionda  ItHcIf,  I  welcome  it ;  I  see  no  wisdom 
in  schooling  one's  nclf  to  bear  hardships  that  r^ay  r  t  arise.  Yea, 
I  have  heard  of  Henley — the  Thames  in  July — the  brilliant  com- 
pany— " 

"  It  is  awfully  kind  of  yuu,"  uid  Vincent,  rising  and  prepar- 
ing to  go.  "  I  am  sure  you  won't  regret  it ;  it  is  the  very 
prettiest  thing  in  England.  And  to-morrow  night  I  will  let '  ou 
know  all  the  arrangements." 

Full  of  joy  was  the  heart  of  this  young  man  as  he  strode 
away  down  to  Qrosvenor  Place ;  and  reckless  and  extravagant 
wero  the  projects  crowding  in  upon  his  brain  as  to  how  ho 
should  play  the  part  of  host.  For  one  thing,  he  had  the  where- 
withal. Apart  from  the  allowance  given  him  by  his  father,  an 
uncle  had  died  leaving  him  a  considerable  sum,  while  his  own 
personal  habits  were  of  the  most  inexpensive  kind ;  so  that  he 
had  plenty  of  money — too  much  money — to  spend  when  any 
whim  entered  his  head.  And  now,  for  the  first  time,  old  George 
Bethnne  and  the  fair  Maisrie  were  to  be  openly  and  ostensibly 
his  guests ;  and  what  was  he  not  going  to  do  in  the  way  of  en- 
tertaining them?  If  only  he  could  make  sure  that  Maisrie's 
cream-colored  costume  would  go  well  with  calceolarias  t  then 
with  masses  of  calceolarias  that  house-boat  would  be  smothered 
from  stem  to  stern  1 

Nor  did  the  knowledge  that  Mrs.  Ellison  would  very  likely  be 
at  Henley  trouble  him  one  bit  He  was  not  ashamed  of  this 
recently-formed  friendship ;  no,  rather  he  was  ready  to  proclaim 
it  to  all  the  world.  Supposing  Mrs.  Ellison— shrewd-eyed  as  she 
was — were  to  come  and  inspect  them,  where  could  she  find  two 
more  interesting  human  beings — the  old  man  with  his  splendid 
nerve  and  proud  spirit ;  amid  all  his  misfortunes,  and  in  his  old 
age,  too,  still  holding  his  head  erect,  firm  and  unyielding  as  his 
own  Craig-Royston ;  the  young  girl  with  her  pensive  and  mys- 
terious beauty,  her  clear-shining,  timid  eyes,  her  maidenly  dig- 
nity, her  patience  with  the  old  man,  and  persuasive  and  affection- 


ff>g> 
sari 

arc 


BTAND    VAST,  CRAIO-ROTaTONI 


RO 


I  know  what 
id  ready  (or 
your  propar 
indeed,  I'm 
9o  laxurioua 
rbid;  if  the 

0  no  wifldoin 

1  arise.    Yea, 
>rilliant  com- 

•nd  prepar- 
>,  is  the  very 
1  will  let' JO 

as  bo  strode 
1  extravagant 
s  to  how  he 
ad  the  where- 
his  father,  an 
i\\\\q  his  own 
i ;  so  that  he 
nd  when  any 
te,  old  Ooorge 
id  ostensibly 
le  way  of  en- 
;hat  Maisrie'a 
lolarias  t  then 
|be  smothered 

rery  likely  be 
lamed  of  this 
|y  to  proclaim 
[d-eyed  as  she 
she  find  two 
his  splendid 
ind  in  his  old 
[iolding  as  his 
»ive  and  mys- 
laidenly  dig- 
land  affection- 


lite  guidance  f  Ashamed  of  this  friendship  t — he  was  more  in- 
clined to  parade  it,  to  boast  of  it ;  h«.*  would  have  scorned  him- 
H«if  otherwiNO.  Of  course  (as  he  could  not  hide  from  himself), 
Mrs.  Ellison  might  be  inclined  to  spbcuUte  upon  ulterior  motives, 
nnd  might  begin  to  ask  what  was  to  come  of  all  this  warmth  of 
friundihip  and  conotant  association.  But  any  future  possibili- 
ties Viocont  put  away  even  from  himself ;  they  wore  all  too 
wild  and  strange  as  yet ;  he  wni  content  with  the  fascination  he 
found  in  these  pleasant  little  morrymakin^ira,  in  the  more  inti- 
mate companionship  of  the  smuU  pa-'  .,  In  listening,  there  or 
oJBcwhcro  and  always,  to  Maisrie  Bethune's  voice.  And  perhaps 
it  was  only  the  sweetness  of  that  voice,  and  the  softly  murmured 
r's,  that  had  vibrated  through  his  hoRrt  when  she  san^  "Jo  ne 
piiiH  rion  donncr,  qu'  mon  cceur  en  mariage."  What  oth<fr  charm 
could  lie  in  so  simple  a  phrase  f  At  all  events,  he  thought  he 
would  as).  Maisrie  to  take  her  violin  down  to  Henley  with  her, 
just  in  case  Mrs.  Ellison  should  some  evening  pay  a  visit  to  the 
"  White  Rose."      .  x^'f.,.-  ««''n  «,.:.^v,  ;+•  ,,•■•»'.-'>  -r.,-.->^M-r 


r- 


.  ,  ,v   '■'■'    „■■-■'-      1    ,'ll    X-M'    ■»•    '    »/■'■"•■-•«-»■■■'>,«!:    ■■ 

-,•>  ^*;;-;.i'«<    CHAPTER  VI.        o->:-,',.i*CiV.>;fc;fS^'«  : 

■  J  .,,,ti  ,  .(-.'ii'J  ...v  •■■»:-  X'.'.';,."t- 

••         FAIRYLAND. 

It  was  a  soft  summer  night,  cool  and  fragrant  after  the  heat 
of  the  long  July  day ;  and  here,  undor  an  awning  in  the  stem  of 
the  house-boat "  White  Rose,"  were  George  Bethune,  bis  grand- 
daughter Maisrie,  and  Vincent  Harris,  looking  out  upon  the 
magic  scene  that  stretched  sway  from  them  on  oach  hand  up  and 
down  the  river.  All  the  dusk  was  on  fire  with  illuminations; 
the  doors  and  windows  of  the  house-boats  sent  forth  a  dull 
golden  glow ;  there  were  colored  lamps,  crimson,  blue,  and  or- 
ange; there  were  strings  of  Chinese  lanterns  that  scarcely 
moved  in  the  faint  stirring  of  wind,  and  now  and  again  an 
electric  launch  would  go  by,  stealthily  .and  silently,  with  brill- 
iant festoons  of  fierce  white  lights  causing  it  to  look  like  some 
gigantic  and  amazing  insect  irradiating  the  dark.  The  smooth 
surface  of  the  stream  quivered  with  reflections ;  here  and  there 
a  rowing-boat  glided  along,  with  a  cool  plash  of  oars;  a  gondols 


'••^MMMPi'i'*'* 


^■-''•e-iw^'yf'-'/-"^!" 


90 


STAND   FAST,  ORAIG-nOTBTOK  1 


came  into  view  and  slowly  vanished — the  white-clad  gondolier 
visionary  as  a  ghost  Ersry  where  there  was  a  scent  of  uowers ; 
and  on  board  this  particular  house-boat  there  was  but  the  one 
prevailing  perfume,  for  the  sole  decoration  of  the  saloon  con- 
sisted of  deep  crimson  roses — a  heavy  splendor  against  the 
white  and  gold  walls.  From  some  neighboring  craft  came  the  tin- 
kle of  a  banjo ;  there  was  a  distant  hum  of  conversation ;  the  un- 
seen reeds  and  water-lilies  could  be  imagined  to  be  whispering 
in  the  silence.  Among  the  farther  woods  and  meadows  there 
was  an  occasional  moving  light ;  no  doubt  the  campers-out  were 
preparing  to  pitch  their  tents. 

"  Mr.  Talkative  of  Prating  Row  is  hardly  wanted  here  to- 
night," old  George  Bethune  was  saying,  nnmindful  of  his  own 
garrulous  habits.  "Music  is  better.  What  is  that  they  are 
singing  over  there,  Maisrie  t" 

"'The  Canadian  Boat  Song,' grandfather?"  -  ^^'% 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course ;  I  thought  it  was  familiar.  And  very 
pretty  it  sounds,  coming  across  the  water — though  I  do  not 
know  whether  the  air  is  modern  or  old.  What  I  am  certain  of," 
he  continued,  raising  his  voice  slightly,  as  he  usually  did  when 
he  was  about  to  discourse,  "is  that  the  finest  national  airs  are 
L^ciont  beyond  the  imagination  of  man  to  concc've.  No  matter 
when  words  may  have  been  tacked  on  to  them,  t!<e  original 
melodies,  warlike  or  pathetic  or  joyous,  were  the  voice  of 
millions  of  generstionn  that  passed  away,  leaving  us  only  these 
expressions  of  what  they  had  felt.  And  if  one  could  only  re- 
translate them !  if  one  could  put  back  into  speech  all  the  human 
suffering  that  found  expression  in  such  en  air  as  'The  Last 
Rose  of  Summer,'  wouldn't  that  electrify  the  world  t  I  wonder 
how  many  millions  of  generations  must  have  suffered  and  wept 
and  remembered  ere  that  piteous  cry  could  have  been  uttered ; 
and  when  T  come  to  Tom  Moore's  wretched  trivialities — " 

"  Grandfather,"  interposed  Maisrie  Bet'anne  quickly  (for  there 
were  certain  subjects  that  angered  him  beyond  endurance), 
<<  you  must  not  forget  to  show  Mr.  Harris  that  old  play  yon 
found — with  the  Scotch  airs,  I  mean." 

"  Yes,  that  is  curious,"  said  the  old  man,  yielding  innocently. 
"  Curious,  is  it  not,  that  long  before  either  Burns  or  Scott  was 
bom,  a  Scotchman  named  MitchsU  should  have  collected  over 
fi'ty  of  the  best-known  Scotch  airs,  and  printed  them,  with 


*'**S-:VateKsK» 


ffl**8asfes«8»SBfeito!»W;ifc; 


M 


mmmmmi'mKHimmm 


aXAMD      AST,  ORAIO-BOTSTOiri 


01 


'clad  gondolier 
ent  of  ucwere ; 
18  but  the  one 
lie  saloon  Con- 
or against  the 
ft  came  the  tin- 
■sation;  theun- 
be  whispering 
meadows  there 
mpers-out  were 

tnted  here  to- 

[ful  of  his  own 

that  thej  are 

iar.     And  very 
ongh  I  do  not 
am  certain  of," 
inally  did  when 
itional  airs  are 
ve.    No  matter 
n,  t^o   original 
the  voice  of 
'  us  only  these 
could  only  re- 
i  all  the  human 
as  *The  Last 
Id  t    I  wonder 
!ered  and  wept 
been  uttered; 
ities— " 
ickly  (for  there 
id  endurance), 
old  play  you 

ing  innocently. 

IS  or  Scott  was 

collected  over 

«d  them,  with 


words  of  his  own ;  and  that  ho  should  have  chosen  for  the  aotiui 
of  hid  play  the  borders  of  the  Highlands,  so  as  to  contrast  the 
manners  ftnd  customs  of  the  Highland  chieftains  and  their 
fierco  clansmen  with  those  of  the  Lowland  lairds  and  the  soldiery 
sent  to  keep  the  peace  between  them  f  "  The  Highland  Fair  "  was 
produced  at  Drury  I^ne  about  1730,  if  I  remember  aright;  but 
I  cannot  gather  whether  Ewen  and  Colin,  and  Alaster  and 
Kenneth,  impressed  the  Londoners  much.  To  mo  the  book  is 
valuable  because  of  the  airs — though  I  could  wish  for  the  origi- 
nul  songs  instead  of  Mitchell's — " 

Here  Maisric,  seeing  that  her  grandfather  was  started  on  a 
safer  subject,  quietly  rose ;  and  at  the  iSrst  pause  dbe  said : 

'*  1  see  some  of  them  are  putting  out  their  lights,  and  that  is 
a  hint  for  me  to  be  off.  I  suppose  we  shall  be  wakened  early 
enough  to-morrow  morning  by  the  boats  going  by.  €k>od-night, 
Mr.  Harris !    Good-night,  grandfather  I" 

She  shook  hands  with  both,  and  kissed  her  grandfather; 
then  she  passed  into  the  glow  of  that  wonderful  rose  palace, 
and  made  her  way  along  to  the  ladies'  cabin,  into  which  she 
disappeared.    Yin  Harris  now  lit  a  cigar,  the  first  during  this 

day.         ;-.,:»:   v■^^Vt  |v^f«itfv>{--,5'T:Wi   .'.:?  * 

But  when  old  Geoi^  Bethune  resumed  his  monologue  it  was 
neither  Highland  clans  nor  Lowland  songs  that  concerned  him ; 
it  was  something  that  proved  to  be  a  good  deal  more  interesting 
to  his  patient  listener.  It  was  of  Maisrie's  youth  that  he  spoke, 
and  that  in  a  far  more  simple  and  natural  way  than  was  bis 
wont.  There  were  no  genealogical  vauntings,  no  exalted  vi jious 
of  what  she  should  be  when  she  camo  in  for  her  rights ;  there 
were  reminiscences  of  her  earlier'  years,  and  of  his  and  her  wan- 
derings together ;  and  there  was  throughout  a  certain  wistf  ulness 
in  his  tone.  For  once  he  talked  without  striving  for  effect, 
without  trying  oratorioally  to  convince  himself ;  and  it  is  to  be 
imagined  how  entirely  Vincent  was  engrossed  by  this  simple 
recital.  Not  that  there  was  any  consecutive  narrative.  The 
young  man  could  only  vaguely  gather  that  Maisrie's  father  had 
been  a  railway  engineer,  that  he  had  married  a  young  Scotch 
lady  in  Baltimore  before  going  out  West,  that  Maisrie  had  been 
born  in  Omaha,  that  shortly  thereafter  her  mother  died ;  then 
came  the  collapse  of  certain  speculations  her  father  had  been  led 
into,  so  that  the  widower,  broken  in  heart  and   fortune,  soon 


M 


BTAHD   FAST,  CRAIO-BOTSTOIT I 


followed  his  young  wife,  leaving  thuir  child  to  the  caro  of  her 
only  surviving  relative.  Whether  there  were  some  remains  of 
the  shattered  fortune,  or  whether  friends  subscribed  to  make  up 
a  small  fund  for  them,  it  appeared  that  the  old  man  and  his 
granddaughter  were  not  quite  penniless,  for  ho  took  credit  to 
himself  that  he  had  spent  nearly  all  their  little  income  arising 
from  this  unspecified  source  on  Maisrie's  education. 

"  I  wish  to  have  her  fitted  for  any  sphere  to  which  she  might 
be  called,"  he  went  on  in  a  musing  kind  of  way,  "  and  I  hope  I 
have  succeeded.  She  has  had  the  best  masters  I  could  afford, 
and  something  of  her  teaching  I  have  taken  upon  myself.  But, 
after  all,  that  is  not  of  the  greatest  importance.  She  has  seen 
the  world  far  more  than  most  of  her  years,  and  she  has  not  been 
s^  ')iled  by  the  contact.  I  could  have  wished  her,  perhaps,  to 
have  had  more  of  the  companionship  of  her  own  sex,  but  that 
was  not  often  practicable  in  our  wandering  life.  However,  she 
has  an  intuitive  sympathy  that  stands  for  much,  and  if  in  society 
—which  is  not  much  in  our  way — she  might  show  herself  shy 
and  reserved,  well,  I,  for  one,  should  not  complain ;  that  seems 
to  me  more  to  be  coveted  than  confidence  aiid  self-assertion. 
As  for  outward  manner,  she  has  never  wanted  any  schoolmis- 
tress other  than  her  own  natural  tact  and  her  own  refinement  of 
feeling ;  she  is  a  gentlewoman  at  heart — rudeness,  coarseness, 
presumption  would  be  impossible  to  her." 

"The  merest  stranger  can  see  that,"  Vincent  ventured  to  say 
in  rather  a  low  voice. 

"  And  thus  so  far  we  have  come  through  the  world  together,'' 
the  old  man  continued  in  the  same  meditative  mood.  "  What  I 
have  done  I  have  done  for  the  best.  Perhaps  I  may  have  erred ; 
what  could  I  tell  about  the  upr^^ing  of  a  young  girl !  And  it 
may  be  that  what  she  is  now  she  is  in  spite  of  what  I  have  done 
for  her  and  with  her ;  who  knows  such  mysteries  ?  As  for  the 
future,  perhaps  it  is  better  not  to  look  to  it  She  is  alone,  she 
is  sensitive,  the  world  is  hard."        f     St 

"  I  know  many  who  would  like  to  be  her  friends,"  the  young 
man  said,  breathlessly. 

"Sometimes,"  old  George  Bethune  continued  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  "  I  wonder  whether  I  have  done  my  best  I  may 
have  built  on  false  hopes,  and  taught  her  to  do  the  same.  I  see 
young  women  better  equipped  for  the  battle  of  the  world,  if  it  is 


do 


you 
the 


STAITD   rABT,  eRAIO-ROTSTON  I 


98 


19  caro  of  her 
le  remains  of 
sd  to  make  op 

man  and  his 
iodk  credit  to 
acome  arising 
n. 

ich  she  might 
'  and  I  hope  I 
[  could  afford, 
nyself.     But, 

She  has  seen 
e  has  not  been 
er,  perhaps,  to 
1  sex,  but  that 

However,  she 
id  if  in  society 
ow  herself  shy 
n;  that  seems 

self-assertion, 
wy  schoolmis- 
I  refinement  of 
!88,  coarseness, 

entured  to  say 

>rld  together,*' 
>od.  "What  I 
ay  have  erred ; 
girlt  And  it 
it  I  have  done 
?  As  for  the 
is  alone,  she 

i,"  the  young 

slowly  and 
'  best  I  may 
i  same.  I  see 
>  world,  if  it  is 


to  come  to  that.  Perhaps  I  have  been  selfish,  too,  perhaps  I  have 
avoided  looking  to  the  time  when  she  and  I  must  in  the  nrtural 
course  of  things  be  separated.  We  have  been  always  together, 
as  one,  I  might  say ;  the  same  sunlight  has  shone  on  us,  we  have 
met  the  same  storms,  and  not  much  caring  so  long  as  we  were 
the  one  with  the  other.  But,  then,  the  years  that  can  be  granted 
mo  now  are  but  few,  and  she  has  no  kinsman  to  whom  she  can 
^0,  even  to  glean  in  the  fields  and  ask  for  a  pitcher  of  water. 
And  when  I  think  of  her,  alone  among  strangers — my  Maisrie — " 

His  voice  choked — but  only  for  a  moment.  He  suddenly 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  flung  his  arms  in  the  air,  as  if  he  would 
free  himself  from  this  intolerable  burden  of  despondency  and 
doubt 

"  Why,"  said  he,  in  accents  of  scornful  impatience,  "  have  ! 
gone  mad?  or  what  pestilent  thing  is  this!  Surmm  eorda! 
Wc  have  faced  the  world  together,  she  and  I,  and  no  one  has 
ever  yet  found  us  downhearted.  'We've  aye  been  provided 
for,  and  sae  will  we  yet'  I  do  not  mean  as  regards  the  com- 
mon necessities  of  life — for  these  are  but  of  small  account — but 
the  deeper  necessities  of  sympathy  and  hope  and  confidence. 
Stand  fast,  Craig-Royston  1  '  This  rock  shall  fly  from  its  firm 
base  as  soon  as  1 1'  Well,  my  young  friend,"  he  continued, 
quite  cheerfully  and  bravely, "  you  have  seen  me  in  a  mood  that 
is  not  common  with  me ;  you  will  say  nothing  about  it — to  her, 
especially.  She  puts  her  trust  in  me ;  and,  so  far,  I  think, 
I  have  not  failed  her.  I  have  said  to  her,  'Come  the  three 
coraers  of  the  world  in  arms,  and  we  shall  shock  them.'  Ill- 
fortune  buffets  uselessly  against  'man's  unconquerable  mind.' 
She  knows  the  race  she  comes  of,  and  the  motto  of  that  race — 
Craig-Koyston  holds  its  front  1  Well,  well,  now  let  me  thank 
you  for  this  beautiful  evening,  and  on  her  behalf,  too ;  she  is  at 
the  time  when  the  mind  should  be  stored  with  pleasant  memo- 
ries. Perhaps  I  have  been  over-communicative,  and  made  you 
the  victim  of  idle  fears;  but  there  will  be  no  more  of  that; 
to-morrow  you  shall  find  me  in  my  right  mind." 

He  held  out  bis  hand.  The  young  man  did  not  know  what 
to  say — there  was  so  much  to  say  I  He  could  only  make  offer 
of  some  further  little  hospitalities,  which  Mr.  Bethnne  declined ; 
then  the  Stewart  was  summoned  to  put  out  the  lamps  and  make 
otlicr  preparations,  so  that  the  "White  Rose  "  should  fold  its  petals 


0« 


0TAMO  VABT,  OBAIQ-BOTSTOir  \ 


together  for  the  slamber  of  the  night  And  presently  a  pro- 
foond  peace  reigned  from  stem  to  stem,  and  the  last  p'ashing 
of  the  oars  outside  had  died  away. 

Bat  it  was  not  to  sleep  that  Vincent  deroted  the  early  hoars 
of  this  night  and  morning.  His  mind  was  tossed  this  way  and 
that  by  all  kinds  of  moods  and  projects,  the  former  piteous  and 
the  latter  wildly  impracticable.  He  never  before  fully  realized 
how  curiously  solitary  was  the  lot  of  these  two  wanderers,  how 
strange  was  their  isolation,  how  uncertain  was  their  future. 
And  while  the  old  man's  courage  and  bold  front  provoked  his 
admiration,  he  could  not  help  looking  at  the  other  side  of  the 
shield ;  what  was  to  become  of  her  when  her  only  protector  was 
taken  from  her?  He  knew  that  they  were  none  too  well  off, 
those  two ;  and  what  would  she  do  when  left  alone  f  But  if 
on  the  very  next  day  he  were  to  go  to  Mrs.  Ellison  and  borrow 
£10,000  from  her,  which  he  would  have  mysteriously  conveyed 
to  Id  George  Bethune  t  He  could  repay  the  money,  partly  by 
the  sacrifice  of  his  own  small  fortune,  and  partly  by  the  assign- 
ing over  of  the  paternal  allowance ;  while  he  could  go  away  to 
Birmingham,  or  Sheffield,  or  wherever  the  place  was,  and  earn 
his  living  by  becoming  Mr.  Ogden's  private  secretary.  They 
need  never  know  from  whom  this  bounty  came,  and  it  would 
render  them  secure  from  all  the  assaults  of  Fortune.  Away  up 
there  in  the  Black  Country  he  would  think  of  them,  and  it 
would  lighten  the  wearisome  toil  of  the  desk  if  he  could  imag- 
ine that  Maisrio  Bethune  had  left  the  roar  and  squalor  of  Lon- 
don, and  was  perhaps  wandering  through  these  very  Thames-side 
meadows,  or  floating  in  some  white-gamitured  boat  under  the 
shade  of  the  willows.  There  would  be  rest  for  the  pilgrims  at 
last  after  their  world-buffetings.  •  And  so  he  lay  and  dreamed 
and  pitied  and  planned,  until  in  the  window  of  the  small  state- 
room there  appeared  the  first  blue-gray  of  the  dawn,  about 
which  time  he  finally  fell  asleep. 

But  next  morning  all  was  briskness  and  activity  aroand  them : 
flags  flying,  colored  awnings  being  stretched,  pale  swirls  of 
smoke  rising  from  the  stove-pipes,  the  picnickers  in  th«  mead- 
ows lighting  their  spirit-lamps  fpr  the  breakfast  tea.  The  sun 
was  shining  brightly,  but  there  was  a  cool  breeze  to  temper  the 
heat;  the  surface  of  the  stream  was  stirred  into  silver;  the 
willows  and  rushes  were  shivering  and  swaying ;  a  scent  of  new- 


BTAKD   FAST,  OBAIO-BOTSTOK  I 


05 


resently  a  pra- 

3  last  p'ashing 

the  early  hoars 
i  this  way  and 
aer  piteous  and 
e  fully  realised 
iranderers,  how 
!  their  future, 
t  provoked  his 
Iter  side  of  the 
Y  protector  was 
le  too  well  off, 
alone  t    But  if 
son  and  borrow 
tously  conveyed 
loney,  partly  by 
(  by  the  assign- 
mid  go  away  to 
)  was,  and  earn 
Bcretary.    They 
e,  and  it  would 
une.    Away  up 

4  them,  and  it 
he  could  imag- 
squalor  of  Lon- 
sry  Thames-side 
boat  under  the 
the  pilgrims  at 
y  and  dteamed 
the  small  state- 
le  dawn,  about 

around  them : 
>ale  swirla  of 
rs  in  th«  mead- 
tea.    The  sun 
to  temper  the 
nto  silver;  the 
a  scent  of  new- 


mown  hay  was  in  the  air.  Already  there  were  plenty  of  craft 
afloat,  on  business  or  on  pleasure  bent :  early  visits  being  paid, 
or  masses  of  flowers,  ferns,  an'*  palms  being  brought  along  for 
purchasers.  Maisrie  was  the  tirst  to  be  up  and  out;  then  old 
George  Bethune  could  be  heard  gayly  singing  in  his  state-room, 
as  an  accompaniment  to  his  toilette : 

"  •  Hey,  Johnnie  Oope,  are  ye  Araukin*  yet  f 

And  are  your  drams  a-bcatin'  yet  1  ?■■■  i  '■ 

If  ye  were  waukin',  I  would  wait 

To  meet  Johnnie  Cope  in  the  mor.iing !' " 

Finally,  when  Vincent,  with  many  apologies  for  being  late, 
made  his  appearance  outside,  he  found  the  old  man  confortfr- 
biy  seated  in  the  stem-sheets,  under  t^e  pink-and-white  awning, 
fbading  a  newspaper  he  had  procured  somewhere,  while  Maisrie 
was  on  the  upper-deck  of  the  house-boat  watering  the  flowers 
with  a  can  that  she  had  got  from  the  steward. 

And,  indeed,  to  this  young  man  it  appeared  a  truly  wonderful 
thing  that  these  three,  some  little  while  thereafter,  in  the  cool 
twilight  of  the  saloon,  should  be  seated  at  breakfast  together ; 
they  seemed  to  form  a  little  family  by  themselves,  isolated  and 
remote  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  They  forgot  the  crowded 
Thames  outside  and  the  crowded  meadows ;  hero .  there  was 
quiet,  and  a  chaiming  companionship ;  a  band  that  was  playing 
somewhere  was  so  distant  as  to  be  hardly  audible.  Then  the 
saloon  itself  was  charming ;  for  though  the  boat  was  named  the 
"  White  Rose,"  there  was  a  good  deal  of  pale  pink  in  its  decora- 
tions ;  the  flutings  and  cornice  were  pink  where  they  were  not 
gold,  and  pink  were  the  muslin  curtains  drawn  round  the  small 
windows,  while  the  profusion  of  deep  crimson  roses  all  round 
the  long  room,  and  the  masses  of  grapes  and  pineapples  on  the 
breakfast-table,  made  up  a  picture  almost  typical  of  summer  in 
the  height  of  its  luxuriance  and  shaded  coolness. 

"  This  seems  very  nice,"  said  the  young  host,  "  even  suppos- 
ing there  were  no  river  and  no  racing.  I  don't  see  why  a  cara- 
van like  this  shouldn't  be  put  on  wheels  and  taken  away  through 
the  country.  There  is  an  idea  for  you,  Mr.  Bethune,  when  you 
set  out  on  your  pilgrimage  through  Scotland;  wouldn't  a 
movable  house  of  this  kind  be  the  very  thipg  for  Miss  Bethune 
and  you !  You  could  set  it  afloat  if  you  wanted  to  go  down  a 
river,  or  put  it  on  a  lorry  when  you  wanted  to  take  the  road." 


06 


STAND    FAST,  ORAIO-ROYBTON  I 


"  I'm  afraid  all  this  luxury  would  be  out  of  place  in  *  Caledo- 
nia, stern  and  wild,' "  the  old  man  said.  "  No,  no ;  these  '.hings 
are  for  the  gay  South.  When  Maisrie  and  I  seek  out  tlie  misty 
solitudes  of  the  North,  and  the  graves  of  Rcnwick  and  Car- 
gill,  it  will  bo  on  foot ;  and  if  we  bring  away  with  as  some 
little  trifle  to  remind  us  of '  Logan's  streams  and  Ettrick's  shaws,' 
it  will  be  a  simple  thing — a  bluebell  or  a  bit  of  yellow  broom. 
I  have  been  thinking  that  perhaps  this  autumn  we  might  be- 
gin-" 

"  Oh,  no,  grandfather,"  Maisrie  interposed  at  once — "  that  is 
impossible.  You  know  you  have  the  American  volume  to  do 
first.  What  a  pity  it  would  be,"  she  went  on,  with  an  insidious 
and  persuasive  gentleness  which  the  young  man  had  seen  her 
adopt  before  in  humoring  her  grandfather,  "  if  some  one  e\ab 
were  to  bring  out  a  book  on  the  same  subject  before  you  1  You 
know  no  one  understands  it  so  thoroughly  as  you  do,  grand- 
father ;  and  with  your  extraordinary  memory  you  can  say  exactly 
what  you  require,  so  that  you  "ould  send  over  and  get  the  mate- 
rials you  want  without  any  trouble." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  the  old  man  said,  curtly.  "  But  we 
need  not  talk  business  at  such  a  time  as  this." 

Now  there  was  attached  to  the  "  White  Rose  "  a  rowing-boat, 
and  a  very  elegant  rowing-boat  it  was,  too,  of  varnished  pine ; 
and  by-and-by  Vincent  proposed  to  bis  two  guests  that  they 
should  get  into  the  stern-sheets,  and  he  would  take  a  short  pair 
of  sculls  and  pull  them  up  to  the  bridge,  to  show  them  the 
other  house-boats,  and  the  people,  and  the  fun  of  the  fair  gen- 
erally. 

"  But  wouldn't  you  take  the  longer  oars,"  said  Maisrie,  look- 
ing down  into  the  shapely  i^ig,  "  and  let  me  have  one  i" 

"  Oh,  would  you  like  that  V  he  said,  with  pleasure  in  his 
eyes.  "  Yes,  by  all  means,  if  you  care  to  row.  It  is  a  light 
boat,  though  it's  long ;  you  won't  find  it  hard  pulling.  By  the 
way;  I  hunted  about  everywhere  to  get  a  gondola  for  you,  and 
I  couldn't." 

"But  who  told  you  I  had  ever  tried  an  oar  in  a  gondola?" 
she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  you  yourself.  Was  I  likely  to  forget  it  f"  he  said,  re- 
proachfully. 

And,  oh,  wasn't  he  a  proud  young  man  when  he  saw  this  rare 


«e  in  *  Caledo- 
> ;  these  Ihings 
:  oat  tlie  misty 
nrick  and  Car- 
with  ns  some 
ttrick's  shawB,' 
yellow  broom, 
we  might  l>e- 

)nce — "  that  is 
volume  to  do 
th  an  insidious 
had  seen  her 
some  one  elsfe 
ore  you  I  You 
rou  do,  grand- 
»n  say  exactly 
i  get  the  mate- 

;ly.     "  But  we 


a  rowing-boat, 
.rnished  pine; 
ests  that  they 
[6  a  short  pair 
low  them  the 
the  fair  gen- 

liaisrie,  look- 
one!" 

easure  in  his 
It  is  a  light 
tng.  By  the 
for  you,  and 

a  gondohi!" 

?"  he  said,  re- 

saw  this  rare 


'■''-v- 


■  f;;-^*n-'.v 


..*'''r.  :•-■■ 


V.  ^p- 


■■1  . 


■7AIfD   rAiT,  OBAia-BOTBTOR  I 


97 


and  radiant  creatare — clad  all  in  white  she  was,  save  for  a  bnneh 
of  yellow  kingcups  in  her  white  sailor-hat,  and  a  belt  of  dall 
gold  satin  at  her  waist — when  he  saw  her  step  down  into  the 
boat  and  take  her  place,  and  put  out  the  stroke  oar  with  her 
prettily-shaped  hands.  Her  grandfather  was  already  in  the 
stcrn-shcets,  in  possession  of  the  tiller-ropes.  When  they  moved 
oS  into  mid-stream  it  was  very  gently,  for  the  river  was  already 
beginning  to  swarm ;  and  he  observed  that  she  pulled  as  one  ac- 
customed to  pulling,  and  with  ease ;  while,  as  he  was  responsi- 
blo  for  keeping  time,  they  had  i  thing  to  be  ashamed  of  as  they 
slowly  moved  up  the  course.  Indeed,  they  were  only  paddling ; 
sometimes  they  bad  to  call  a  halt  altogether,  when  there  was  a 
confusion ;  and  this  not  unwelcome  leisure  they  devoted  to  an 
observation  of  the  various  crews — ^girls  in  the  lightest  of  sum- 
mer costumes,  young  men  in  violent  blazers — or  to  a  covert  in- 
spection of  the  other  house-boats,  with  their  parterres  and  fes- 
toons of  flowers,  their  huge  Japanese  snnshades  and  tinted  awn- 
ings, and  the  brilliant  groups  of  laughing  and  chatting  visitors. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Harris,  do  look  I  isn't  that  a  pretty  one  ?"  Maisrie 
exclaimed  in  an  undertone. 

He  glanced  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  there  beheld  a  very 
handsome  house-boat,  all  of  rich-hued  mahogany,  its  chief  dec- 
oration being  flower-boxes  in  blue  tiles  filled  with  marguerites. 
At  the  same  ir  .nt  he  found  that  a  pair  of  eyes  were  fixed  on 
him— eyes  that  were  familiar;  and  the  next  moment  he  knew 
that  Mrs.  Ellison,  from  the  upper  deck  of  that  mahogany  house- 
boat, was  regarding  him  and  his  companions  r-ith  an  intense 
curiosity.  But  so  swift  was  her  scrutiny,  and  su  impassive  her 
face,  that  ere  he  could  guess  at.  the  result  of  her  investigation 
she  had  made  him  a  formal  little  bow  and  turned  away  to  talk 
to  her  friends.  Of  course,  with  one  hand  on  the  oar  he  raised 
his  hat  with  the  other ;  but  the  effect  of  this  sudden  re>:ognition 
was  to  leave  him  rather  breathless  and  bewildered.  It  is  true 
he  had  half  expected  her  to  be  there,  but  all  the  same  he  was 
not  quite  prepared ;  and — and  he  was  wondering  what  she  was 
thinking  now.  However,  the  officials  were  beginning  to  clear 
the  course  for  the  first  race ;  so  the  gig  was  run  in  behind  cne 
of  the  tall  white  poles ;  and  there  the  small  party  of  three  re- 
mained until  the  rival  crews  had  gone  swiftly  by,  when  it  was 
permitted  them  to  return  to  the  <*  Whita  Rose." 
7       E 


98 


■TAMO  VAIT,  ORAIO-mOTITOII  I 


After  loncheoo  he  uid  ho  would  leavo  liis  gnenti  to  them- 
solves  for  a  little  while,  m  ho  wished  to  pay  a  Tisit  to  a  friend 
ho  had  seen  on  one  of  the  other  house-boats ;  then  he  jumped 
into  the  gig,  made  his  way  along  to  the  "  Vilioggiaiura,"  got  on 
board,  went  up  the  steps,  and  found  himself  among  a  crowd  of 
people.  Mrs.  Ellison,  noticing  him,  discreetly  loft  the  group 
she  was  with,  and  came  to  him,  taking  him  in  a  mcasuro  apart. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Vin,"  she  said,  regarding  the  young  man. 
"  If  you  wish  it — if  you  prefer  it — I  have  seen  nothing." 

*'  What  do  you  moan,  aunt  ?"  ho  said,  with  some  haughty  in- 
clination to  auger.  "  Why  should  I  seek  any  concealment  f  I 
want  you  to  come  along  that  I  may  introduce  to  you  two  friends 
of  mine." 

Instinctively  she  seemed  to  draw  back  a  little — almost  as  if 
she  wem  afraid. 

"  Oh,  no,  thanks,  Vin.     No,  thanks.     Please  leave  me  out" 

"Whyf  he  demanded. 

The  pretty  young  widow  was  embarrassed  and  troubled ;  for 
sfio  knew  the  fiery  nature  of  young  men  ;  and  did  not  want  to 
provoke  any  quarrel  by  an  unguarded  expression. 

*'  Well — it  is  simply  this,  you  know — they  are  strangers — I 
mean — I  suppose  that  neither  your  father  nor  any  of  the  family 
have  met  them — they  seemed  somehow  like  strangers — unusual 
looking — and — and  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the  first.  Leave  me 
out,  there's  a  good  boy !" 

"  Why  f '  he  demanded  again. 

So  bhe  was  driven  to  confession.  ^:. .".".,; 

"  Well,  look  hero,  Vin ;  I  may  be  wrong ;  but  aren't  these 
new  friends  somehow  connected  with  your  being  so  much  away 
from  home  of  late — with  your  being  in  those  lodgings  I  Was 
it  there  you  made  their  acquaintance  I" 

"  If  yoR  want  to  know,  I  saw  them  first  at  Lord  Mussolbargh's," 
said  he,  with  an  amazing  audacity  ;  for  although  the  statement 
was  literally  true,  it  was  entirely  misleading. 

And  apparently  it  staggered  the  pleasant-eyed  yonng  widow. 

"  Oh,  at  Lord  Musselburgh's  f '  said  she,  with  s  distiuot  (but 
cautious)  change  of  manner.  "Oh,  really  I  Lord  Musselburgh's  1 
But  why  should  you  want  to  introduce  me  to  them,  Vin  t" 

"  Because,"  said  he, "  they  have  never  met  any  member  of 
our  family;  and  as  yon  are  the  most  good-natared  and  the 
prettiest,  I  want  to  produce  a  favorable  impression  at  the  outset" 


an 


mmmmmm 


iwtt  to  them- 
■it  to  A  fri«nd 
ion  he  jumped 
iaiurs,"  got  on 
ng  »  crowd  of 
oft  tho  group 
nioasuro  apart 
lie  young  man. 
olhing." 
no  haughty  in- 
incealment  f  I 
ou  two  friends 

— almost  as  if 

lare  me  oat" 

1  troubled ;  for 
lid  not  want  to 

■e  strangers — I 
Y  of  the  family 
igers — unusual 
St.     Leave  me 


it  areoH  these 
so  much  away 
dgings  t    Was 

usselbargh's," 
the  statement 

ronng  widow, 
distinct  (but 
fusselbargh's! 
m,  Vin!" 
ly  member  of 
ured  and  the 
at  tho  outset" 


STAiro  riiT,  OBAio-RorsTOiri  M 

Sho  laughed  and  waa  not  displeased. 

*'  There  arc  some  other  qualities  that  seem  to  charaoterixe  oar 
family — impu.'  >nce  for  one,"  she  obserred.  "  Well,  come  along, 
then,  Vin ;  whore  are  your  friends  T' 

"  In  a  house-boat  down  there — the  •  White  Rose.' " 

"  Tho  '  White  Rose '  I  I  noticed  it  yesterday — very  pretty — 
whoso  is  it  ?" 

"  Mine  for  tho  present ;  I  rented  it  for  tho  week,"  ho  replied. 

"  Who  aro  the  other  members  of  your  party  t" 

"  None — only  those  two." 

But  hero  she  paused  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  and  said,  in  an 
undertone:  , ''  - 

'*  Really,  Vin,  this  is  too  mach  1  Yon,  a  young  man,  enter- 
taining those  two — and  no  lady  chaperon — " 

lie  turned  and  looked  at  her,  with  straight  eyes. 

"  Oh,  it's  quite  right,"  she  said,  hastily — "  it's  quite  right,  of 
course — but — but  so  mach  «»  evidmee — so  prominent — peoplo 
might  talk— " 

"  I  never  try  to  hinder  people  from  talking,"  said  he,  with  a 
certain  Acorn.  "  And  if  they  busy  themselves  with  my  small 
affairs,  they  are  welcome  to  ring  their  discoveries  from  the  tops 
of  tlio  Btcoples.  I  did  not  ask  anybody's  permission  when  I  in- 
vited  two  friends  of  mine,  who  had  never  been  to  Henley  be- 
fore,  to  bo  my  guests  during  the  regatta  week." 

"Of  course  not — of  course  not,"  she  said, gently;  "but  yoa 
arc  doing  it  in  such  a  marked  way.—" 

"  Come,  come,  aunt,"  said  ho ;  "  it  isn't  like  you  to  niggle 
about  nothing.  You  aro  not  a  prude ;  you  have  too  much  good- 
nature and  too  much  "ommon-senso.  And  I  don't  want  you  to 
go  on  board  the  *  Waite  Rose'  with  any  kind  of  prujudico  in 
your  mind." 

They  conld  not  got  away  just  then,  however,  for  the  courso 
was  being  cleared  for  the  next  race ;  so  they  lingered  there  nn- 
til  they  saw,  far  away  on  the  open  river,  two  small  objects  like 
water-insects,  with  slender,  quick-moving  legs,  coming  rapidly 
along.  The  dull  murmur  of  the  crowd  became  a  roar  as  the 
boats  drew  nearer.  Then  the  needle-like  craft  shot  by,  almost 
neck  and  neck ;  and  load  were  the  shoots  that  cheered  this  one 
or  that,  while  straining  eyes  followed  them  along  to  tho  goal. 
The  sadden  wave  of  enthvusiasm  almost  immediately  snbsided, 


100 


•TAKD    FAIT,  ORAIO-ROTtTOII  I 


the  Burfftce  of  the  river  wu  ap^ain  being  crowded  by  the  boats 
that  bad  been  confined  behind  the  white  poloi ;  and  now  Vin- 
cent got  hia  fair  companion  down  into  the  gig  and,  with  some 
little  difficulty  and  delay,  rowed  hrr  along  to  the  "  White  Roue." 

lie  waa  very  ansious  aa  he  conducted  her  on  board ;  but  ho 
affected  a  splendid  carcloHnon. 

"  Mr.  Bethuno,"  Raid  ho,  "  let  mo  introduce  you  to  roy  aunt, 
Mrs.  Ellison — Miss  Ikthune,  Mrs.  Ellison.  Now  come  away  in- 
side, and  we'll  got  some  tea  or  strawberries  or  something ;  racing 
isn't  everything  at  llcnioy." 

"  It  isn't  anything  at  all,  as  far  as  I  have  "Been,"  said  Mrs. 
Ellison,  good-humorodly,  aa  she  followed  hor  nephew  into  the 
saloon.  "  Well,  this  is  very  pretty — very  pretty  indeed ;  one  of 
the  simplest  and  prettiest— so  cool-looking.  I  hear  this  is  your 
first  visit  to  Henley,"  sho  continued,  addressing  the  old  man 
when  they  had  taken  their  seats,  Vincent  meanwhile  bustling 
about  to  get  wine  and  biscuits  and  fruit,  for  the  steward  had 
gone  ashore. 

"  It  is,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  am  glad  that  my  granddaughter  has 
seen  it  in  such  favorable  circumstances.  Although  she  has 
travelled  much,  I  doubt  whether  she  has  ever  seen  anything 
more  charming — more  perfect  of  its  kind.  We  missed  the 
Student's  Serenade  at  Naples  last  year;  but  that  would  have 
been  entirely  different,  no  doubt.  But  this  is  a  vast  water- 
picnic,  among  English  meadows,  at  the  fairest  time  of  the  year, 
and  with  such  a  brilliancy  of  color  that  the  eye  is  delighted  in 
every  direction." 

He  was  self-possessed  enough  (whatever  their  eagerly  solicit- 
ous young  host  may  have  been) ;  and  ho  went  on,  in  a  somewhat 
lofty  and  sententious  fashion,  to  describe  certain  of  the  great 
public  festivals  and  spectacles  he  bad  witnessed  in  various  parts 
of  the  world.  Mrs.  Ellison  was  apparently  listening,  as  sho  ate 
a  slrawberry  or  two ;  but  in  reality  she  was  covertly  observing 
the  young  girl  (vho  sat  somewhat  apart)  and  taking  note  of 
every  line  and  lineament  of  her  features,  and  even  every  detail 
of  her  dress.  Vincent  brought  Mr.  Bethune  a  tumbler  of  claret 
with  a  lump  of  ice  in  it ;  he  drained  a  deep  draught,  and  re- 
sumed his  story  of  pageants.  Maisrie  was  silent,  her  eyes 
averted ;  tue  young  man  asked  himself  whether  the  beautiful 
profile,  the  fine  nostrils,  the  sensitive  mouth,  would  not  plead 


HTAND    FAHT,  CRAIO>IOTtTO*(  I 


101 


id  by  the  boats 
;  and  now  Vin- 
and,  with  aom* 
"  Whito  IloM." 
board ;  but  ho 

on  to  my  aunt, 
r  come  away  in- 
(nething ;  racing 

Rcou,"  said  Mrs. 
lephew  into  the 
'  indeed ;  one  of 
tear  this  la  yoar 
ig  tho  old  man 
.nwhile  bustling 
ho  steward  had 

inddaughter  has 
hough  she  has 
soon  anything 
Wo  missed  the 
bat  would  have 
a  vast  watcr- 
me  of  the  yoar, 
is  delighted  in 

eagerly  solicit- 
I,  in  a  somewhat 
in  of  the  great 
in  various  parts 
ning,  as  she  ate 
'ertly  observing 

taking  note  of 
ren  every  detail 
imbler  of  claret 

ranght,  and  re- 

ilent,  her  eyes 
the  beautiful 

ould  not  plead 


for  favor,  ovon  though  aho  did  not  apeak.  It  aeomed  a  thoa« 
■and  pitioR  that  her  grandfather  should  be  in  this  garrulouA 
mood.  Why  did  not  Mrs.  Ellison  turn  to  the  girl  direct  t  lie 
felt  sure  tlioro  would  bo  an  instant  sympathy  between  those 
two,  if  only  Malsrlo  would  appocl  with  hor  wonderful,  true  eyea. 
What  on  earth  did  any  one  want  to  know  about  tho  resplendent 
H|>pfaranco  of  the  White  Cuiraasiera  of  the  I'maaian  Guard,  u 
tbcy  rode  into  Prague  a  week  or  two  after  the  battle  of  KOnig- 
l^ratz,  with  their  dusty  and  swarthy  facea  and  their  copper- 
lmc<l  breastplates  lit  up  by  the  westering  sun  f 

Hut,  on  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Elliaon  waa  not  displeased  by 
this  ono-sidod  conversation ;  quite  the  contrary  ;  she  wanted  to 
know  all  about  these  strange  people  with  whom  her  nephew  had' 
titkun  up,  and  the  more  tho  old  man  talked  tho  better ;  she  re- 
Hoiited  tho  intervention  of  a  race  which  Muster  Vin  dragged 
tlicm  all  away  to  see ;  and  as  soon  aa  it  waa  over — they  were 
now  seated  in  tho  storn-shcots  of  tho  boat — she  turned  to  Mr. 
Hutbune  with  a  quodtion. 

"I  understand,"  she  said,  in  a  casual  set  of  way,  "that  you 
know  Lord  Musselburgh  t" 

At  this  Maisrie  looked  up  startled. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  her  grandfather,  in  his  serene  and  stately 
fashion.  "  Oh,  yes.  A  mo9t  promising  young  man — a  young 
tnnn  who  will  make  his  mark.  Perhaps  he  is  riding  too  many 
hobbies ;  and  yet  it  might  not  be  prudent  to  intorfero  and  ad- 
vise ;  a  young  man  in  his  position  is  apt  to  be  hot-headed — ** 

•'  Mrs.  Ellison,"  interposed  Maisrie,  "  we  are  only  slightly  ac- 
quainted with  Lord  Musselburgh — very  slightly  indeed.  Tho 
fact  is,  ho  was  kind  enough  to  interest  himself  in  a  book  that 
my  grandfather  hopes  to  bring  out  shortly." 

"  Oh,  really,"  said  the  pretty  widow,  with  a  most  charming 
smilo  (perhaps  she  was  glad  of  this  opportunity  of  talking  to 
tho  young  lady  herself),  "  and  may  I  ask — ^pardon  my  curiosity 
— what  the  subject  is." 

"  It  is  a  collection  of  poems  written  by  Scotchmen  living  in 
America  and  Canada,"  answered  Maisrie,  quite  simply.  "  My 
grandfather  mado  the  acquaintance  of  several  of  them,  and 
hoard  of  others ;  and  he  thought  that  a  volume  of  extracts,  with 
a  few  short  biographical  notices,  might  be  interesting  to  the 
Scotch  poople  over  hero.    For  it  is  about  Scotland  that  they 


109 


STAKD   FABT,  ORAIO-ROTSTON  I 


mostly  write,  I  think,  and  of  their  recollections — perhaps  that 
is  only  natural." 

.   "And  when  may  we  expect  it!"  was  the  next  question. 
-  Maisrie  tamed  to  her  grandfather. 

"  Oh,  well,"  the  old  man  made  answer,  with  an  air  of  magnifi- 
cent unconcern,  "  ihat  is  difficult  to  say.  The  book  is  not  of 
such  great  importance ;  it  may  have  to  stand  aside  for  a  time. 
For  one  thing,  I  should  most  likely  have  to  return  to  the  other 
side  to  collect  materials,  whereas,  while  we  are  here  in  the  old 
country,  there  are  so  many  opportunities  for  research  in  oth- 
er and  perhaps  more  valuable  directions  that  it  would  be  a 
thousand  pities  to  neglect  them.  For  example  now,"  he  contin- 
ned,  seeing  that  Mrs.  Ellison  listened  meekly,  "I  have  under- 
taken to  write  for  my  friend  Carmichael  of  the  Edinburgh 
Chronicle  a  series  of  papers  on  a  branch  of  our  own  family  that 
attained  to  great  distinction  in  the  Western  Isles  during  the  reign 
of  the  Scotch  Jameses,  the  learned  Beatons  of  Islay  and  Mull." 

"  Oh,  indeed  1"  said  Mrs.  EllLon,  affecting  much  interest 

"  Yes,"  resumed  old  George  Bethune  with  much  dignified 
complacency,  "  it  will  be  a  singular  history  if  ever  I  find  Ume  to 
trace  it  out.  The  whole  of  that  family  seem  to  have  been  re- 
garded with  a  kind  of  superstitious  reverence,  all  their  say- 
ings were  preserved,  and  even  now,  when  a  proverb  is  quoted  in 
the  Western  Isles,  they  add  '  as  the  sage  of  Mull  said,'  or  '  as 
the  sage  of  Islay  said.'  For  ullamh,  1  may  inform  you,  Mrs. — 
Mrs. — "  :..:.J.>-0' ^  y^u  ^/(-JTih.: 

"  Ellison,"  she  said,  kindly. 

"  Mrs.  Ellison,  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  hearing  is  not  what  it 
was.  Ullamh  in  the  Gaelic  tongue  means  at  once  a  doctor  of 
medicine  and  a  wide  man." 

"They  distinguish  between  the  terms  in  English,"  put  in 
Vincent. 

"  And  doctors  most  of  them  appear  to  have  been,"  contirned 
the  old  man,  quite  oblivious  of  interruption ;  indeed,  he  seemed 
to  be  reading  something  out  of  his  memory  rather  than  address- 
ing particularly  any  one  of  his  audience.  "  A  certain  Hector 
Beaton,  indeed,  got  a  considerable  grant  in  Islay  for  having 
cured  one  of  the  Jameses  when  all  the  Edinburgh  faculty  had 
failed,  and  I  myself  have  seen  in  the  island  of  lona  the  tomb- 
stone of  the  last  of  the  Mull  doctors  of  the  name,  who  died  so  late 


BTAITD   FA8T,  ORAIO-ROTSTOMt 


108 


B — perhaps  that 

;  questioa. 

1  air  of  magnifi' 
I  book  is  not  of 
side  for  a  time, 
irn  to  the  other 
here  in  the  old 
research  in  oth- 
it  would  be  a 
low,"  he  contin- 
"I  have  under- 
the  Edinburgh 
own  family  that 
daring  the  reign 
slay  and  Mull." 
ich  interest, 
much  dignified 
sr  I  find  time  to 
o  have  been  re- 
B,  all  their  say- 
erb  is  quoted  in 
nil  said,'  or  '  as 
>nn  yon,  Mrs. — 


r  is  not  what  it 
ace  a  doctor  of 

nglish,"  put  in 

sen,"  contirned 
eed,  he  seemed 
T  than  address- 
certain  Hector 
ay  for  having 
gh  faculty  had 
lona  the  tomb- 
rho  died  so  hite 


as  1057.  'ffic  jacet  Johannes  Betonus,  Maelenorum  Fanilim 
Medicus.'  No  doubt  there  must  be  some  mention  of  those  Bea- 
tons  ia  the  archives  of  various  families  of  Maclean  of  Mull. 
Then  I  dare  say  I  could  get  a  drawing  of  the  tombstone,  though 
I  can  remember  the  inscription  well  enough.  The  coat-of-arms, 
too,  has  the  three  mascles  of  the  Bethunes." 

"  Of  the  Bethunes!  Then  you  are  of  the  same  family  t"  said 
Mrs.  Ellison,  this  time  with  a  little  genuine  curiosity. 

But  the  interruption  had  the  effect  of  rousing  him  from  hia 
historical  reverie. 

"  I  would  rather  say,"  he  observed,  with  somo  stiffness,  "  that 
they  were  originally  of  our  family.  The  Norman  De  Bethuno 
would  easily  be  changed  into  the  Scotch  Beaton." 

"  Then  there  was  Mary  Beaton,  of  the  Queen's  Marys,"  Mrs. 
Ellison  suggested. 

But  at  this  the  old  man  frowned ;  he  did  not  wish  any  ficti- 
tious characters  brought  into  these  authentic  annals. 

"  An  idle  tale — a  popular  rhyme,"  said  he.  "  There  is  no  real 
foundation  for  the  story  of  Mary  Hamilton  that  ever  I  could 
get  hold  of.  Of  course  there  may  have  been  a  Mary  Beaton  at 
Queen  Mary's  Court — what  more  likely?  —  and  Mary  Beaton 
would  come  trippingly  to  the  popular  tongue  in  conjunction 
with  Mary  Seton ;  but  that  is  all.  It  is  with  real  people,  and 
important  people,  I  shall  have  to  deal  when  I  get  to  the  Advo- 
cates' Library  in  Edinburgh." 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly — of  course — I  quite  understand,"  she  said, 
humbly.  And  then  she  rose.  "  Well,  I  must  be  getting  back 
to  my  friends,  Vin,  or  they  will  think  I  have  slipped  over  the 
side  and  been  drowned." 

"  But  won't  you  stay  to  dinner,  aunt  f"  saH  he.  "  I  wish  you 
would!" 

"  Oh,  no,  thanks,  I  really  couldn't,"  she  answered,  with  a 
sudden  earnestness  that  became  more  intelligible  to  him  after- 
wards. "  I  couldn't  run  away  from  my  host  like  that."  Then 
she  turned  to  Mr.  Bethuue  and  his  granddaughter.  "By 
the  way,"  she  said,  "  Lord  Musselburgh  is  coming  down  to- 
morrow— merely  for  the  day — and  he  will  be  on  board  the 
'  Villeggiatura.'  Would  you,  all  of  you,  like  to  come  along 
and  have  a  look  over  the  boat,  or  shall  I  send  him  to  pay  a  visit 
here!" 


104 


STAND   VAST,  CBAIO-BOTSTOV  t 


It  was  Maisrie  who  replied,  with  perfect  self-composure, 

"  Our  acquaintance  with  Lord  Musselburgh  is  so  very  slight, 
Mrs.  Ellison,"  she  said,  "  that  it  would  hardly  be  worth  while 
making  eilher  proposal.  I  doubt  whether  he  would  even  re- 
member our  names." 

Whereupon  the  young  widow  bade  good-bye  to  Maisrie  with 
a  pretty  little  smile ;  the  old  gentleman  bowed  to  her  with  much 
dignity,  and  then  she  took  her  seat  in  the  stem  of  the  gig,  while 
her  nephew  put  out  the  sculls.  When  they  were  well  out  of 
bearing,  Mrs.  Ellison  said,  with  a  curious  look  in  her  eyes  of 
perplexity  and  half-frightened  amusement, 

"  Vin,  who  is  that  old  man !"  '  ^^    v  '-ir  '<,^^: 

"  Well,  you  saw,  aunt,"  he  made  answer. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  saw— I  saw.  But  I  am  none  the  wiser.  I  could 
not  make  him  out  at  all.  Sometimes  I  thought  he  was  a  self- 
conceited  old  donkey,  who  was  simply  gabbling  at  random ;  and 
again  he  seemed  retdly  to  believe  what  he  was  saying,  about  his 
connection  with  those  Beatons  and  De  Bethunes  and  the  Scotch 
kings.  But  there's  somethir  r  behind  it  all,  Yin ;  I  tell  you 
there  is ;  and  I  can't  make  it  out.  There's  something  mysteri- 
ous about  him." 

'*  There's  nothing  mysterious  at  all  1"^  he  exclaimed,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  But  who  is  ho,  then !"  she  persisted.  "  What  is  he  i  Where 
18  his  family  I    Where  are  his  relatives !" 

"I  don't  think  he  has  any,  if  it  comes  to  that,  except  his 
granddaughter,"  her  nephew  replied. 

"  What  does  he  do,  then  ?    How  does  he  exist  f" 

He  was  beginning  to  resent  this  cross<examination ;  but  yet 
he  said,  civilly  enough, 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  making  inquiries  about  the  income 
of  every  one  I  meet ;  but  I  understand  they  have  some  small 
sum  of  money  between  them — not  much ;  and  then  he  has  pub- 
lished books ;  and  ho  writes  for  the  Edinburgh  Weekly  Chron- 
ich.    Is  that  enough !" 

"  Where  does  he  live !" 

"In  Mayfair." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it  1"  she  said,  and  she  even  ven- 
tured to  laugh  in  a  half-embarrassed  way.  "  I  believe  he  dwells 
in  a  cave — he  is  a  troglodyte— he  comes  out  at  dusk — and  wan- 


&»iitofr-ii«rirniii»M,, 


STAND   FAST,  CRAIO-ROTSTOK I 


105 


lomposure, 
J  80  very  slight, 
be  worth  while 
would  even  re- 

to  Maisrie  with 
)  her  with  mnch 
>f  the  gig,  while 
ere  well  oat  of 
in  her  eyes  of 


wiser.  I  could 
:  he  was  a  self- 
it  random ;  and 
tying,  about  his 
and  the  Scotch 
rin;  I  tell  you 
ething  mysteri- 

[claimed,  impa- 

;  is  he  t    Where 

hat,  except  his 

tation ;  but  yet 

out  the  income 
kve  some  small 
len  he  has  pub- 
Weekly  Chron- 


she  even  ven- 
ilieve  he  dwells 
usk — and  wan- 


ders about  with  a  lantern  and  a  pickaxe.    Really,  when  I  looked 
at  his  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  his  piercing  eyes,  and  his  venerable 

beard,  I  thought  he  must  be  some  Druid  come  to  life  again or, 

perhaps,  one  of  those  mythical  island-doctors  surviving  from  the 
fourteenth  century." 

"At  all  events,  aunt,"  Vincent  said,  with  an  ominous  distinct- 
ness of  tone,  "  his  age  and  what  he  has  come  through  might 
procure  for  him  a  little  respect.  It  isn't  like  you  to  jeer  and 
gibe  simply  because  a  man  is  old." 

"My  dear  boy,  I  am  not  gibing  and  jeering!"  she  protested. 
"  I  tell  you  I  am  puzzled.  There's  something  about  that  old 
man  I  can't  make  out." 

"How  could  you  expect  to  understand  anybody  in  half  an 
hour's  talk  at  Henley  Regatta  I"  he  said,  indignantly.  "  I  gave 
yon  the  opportunity  of  getting  to  know  them  both,  if  only  you 
had  come  along  this  evening  and  spent  some  time  with  them. 
I  am  not  aware  that  either  of  them  wants  to  conceal  anything. 
They  are  not  ashamed  of  their  poverty.  Perhaps  the  old  man 
talks  too  much ;  you,  at  least,  pretended  to  find  what  he  said 
interesting.  And  as  for  the  girl,  no  doubt  she  was  silent ;  she 
isn't  used  to  be  stared  at  and  examined  by  critical  and  unsym- 
pathetic eyes." 

The  young  widow  elevated  her  brows.  Here  was  something 
unexpected. 

"  Vin  Harris,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "  are  you  quarrelling  with 
me  because— because  lam  not  glamoured?  Is  it  as  bad  as 
that?  If  so,  then  I  am  extremely  glad  I  did  not  accept  your 
invitation  for  this  evening.  I  am  compromised  far  enouch  al- 
ready—" •  * 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  compromised  ?"  he  demanded. 

But  just  at  this  moment  she  had  to  call  to  him  to  look  out, 
for  they  had  almost  arrived  at  the  '  Villeggiatnra.'  He  glanced 
over  his  shoulder,  pulled  a  stroke  with  his  right  oar,  shipped 
the  other,  and  then,  having  gripped  the  stern  of  the  house-boat, 
he  aflBxed  the  painter  of  the  gig,  and,  letting  her  fall  back  into 
the  stream,  returned  to  the  thwart  he  had  occupied. 

"  I  wish  to  ask  you,  aunt,"  said  he,  in  a  sufficiently  stiff  and 
formal  tone,  "how  you  consider  you  have  been  compromised 
through  meeting  any  friends  of  mine." 

"Oh," said  she,  half  inclined  to  laugh,  yet  a  littl«  bit  afraid 
E* 


1Q« 


BTAKD   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTOH  I 


too, "  don't  ask  me.  It  isn't  as  serious  as  that — I  mean  I  didu't 
think  you  would  take  it  seriously.  No  doubt  it's  all  right,  Yin, 
your  choosing  your  own  friends;  and  I  have  nothin«r  to  say 
against  them.  Only  I  would  rather  you  left  me  out,  if  you 
don't  mind.     You  see,  I  don't  know  your  intentions." 

"  Supposing  I  have  none  t"  he  demanded  again. 

"  Well,  no  one  can  say  what  may  happen,"  the  young  widow 
persisted ;  "  and  I  should  not  like  to  bo  appealed  to.  Now,  now, 
Yin,  don't  be  so  passionate  I  Have  I  said  a  single  word  against 
your  new  friends  ?  Not  one.  I  only  confess  that  I'm  a  selfish 
and  comfort-loving  woman,  and  I  don't  wish  to  be  drawn  into 
any  family  strife.  There  may  be  no  family  strife  f  Yery  well ; 
so  much  the  better.  But  my  having  too  further  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Bethune  and  Miss  Bethune — my  having  no  knowledge 
of  them  whatever,  for  it  practically  comes  to  that — cannot  in- 
jure them,  and  leaves  me  free  from  responsibility.  Now  don't 
quarrel  with  me,  Yin ;  for  I  will  not  allow  it ;  I  have  been  talk- 
ing common-sense  to  you — ^but  I  suppose  that  is  what  no  man 
of  twenty-five  understands." 

He  hauled  up  the  gig  to  the  stern  of  the  house-boat,  as  an  in- 
timation that  she  could  step  on  board  when  she  chose. 

"  There,"  said  she,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  parting,  "  I 
see  I  have  offended  you,  but  what  I  have  said  has  been  for  your 
Bake  as  well  as  mine." 

Well,  he  was  vexed,  disappointed,  and  a  little  inclined  to  be 
angry.  But  all  that  darkness  fled  from  his  spirit — he  forgot  all 
about  Mrs.  Ellison's  friendly  monitions — he  had  no  care  for  any 
speculations  as  to  the  future—when  he  was  back  again  in  the 
"  White  Rose,"  sitting  by  Maisrie  Bethune,  he  and  she  together 
looking  abroad  on  the  gay  crowd  and  the  boats,  and  the  trem- 
bling willows,  and  the  slow-moving  skies,  now  growing  warmer 
with  the  afternoon  sun.  Then,  when  the  last  of  the  races  was 
over,  came  dinner ;  and  as  twilight  stole  over  the  river  and  the 
meadows,  the  illuminations  began,  the  rows  of  colored  lanterns 
showing  one  after  the  other,  like  so  many  fire-flies  in  the  dusk. 
Of  course  they  were  sitting  outside  now — on  this  placid  summer 
night— in  fairyland. 


mmm 


mean  I  dida't 
all  right,  Vin, 
otbin^;^  to  say 
le  out,  if  yoa 


ns. 


»» 


STAND   FAST,  ORAia-ROTBTON  I 


107 


young  widow 
0.  Now,  now, 
)  word  against 
,t  Tm  a  selfish 
be  drawn  into 
f  Very  well ; 
'  acquaintance 
no  knowledge 
at — cannot  in- 
7.  Now  don't 
lave  been  talk- 

what  no  man 

-boat,  as  an  in- 

hose. 

in  parting,  "  I 

been  for  your 

inclined  to  be 
-he  forgot  all 

0  care  for  any 
:  again  in  the 

1  she  together 
and  the  trem- 
>wing  warmer 
the  races  was 

river  and  the 
ored  lanterns 
in  the  dusk, 
ilacid  summer 


CHAPTER  Vn. 


OLAIRB    FONTAINI. 


But  something  far  more  strange  and  wonderful  happened  to 
him  the  next  morning ;  and  that  was  his  first  tite^-titc  oonver- 
sation  with  Maisrie  Bethune.  It  was  quite  unexpected,  and 
even  unsought ;  nay,  when  he  stepped  outside  and  found  that 
she  was  alone  on  deck,  he  would  hkve  shrunk  back,  had  that 
been  possible,  rather  than  break  in  upon  her  solitude.  For  even 
here  at  Henley,  daring  the  regatta-time,  which  may  be  regarded 
as  the  High  Festival  oi  Joyanco  and  Flirtation,  there  was  no 
thought  of  pretty  and  insidious  love-making  in  this  young  man's 
head  or  heart.  There  was  something  mysteriously  remote  and 
reserved  about  this  isolated  young  creature,  whose  very  beauty 
was  of  a  strangely  pensive  and  wistful  kind.  Even  the  gentle 
self-possession  and  the  wisdom  beyond  her  years  she  showed 
at  times  seemed  to  him  a  pathetic  sort  of  thing ;  he  had  a  fancy 
that  during  her  childhood  she  never  had  had  the  chance  of 
playing  with  yonng  childre.  i. 

But  it  was  too  late  to  retreat,  and,  indeed,  she  welcomed  him 
with  a  pleasant  smile  as  she  bade  him  good-morning.  It  was  he 
who  was  embarrassed.  He  talked  to  her  about  the  common 
things  surrounding  them,  while  anxiously  casting  about  for 
something  better  fitting  such  a  rare  opportunity.  And  at  last 
he  said : 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  your  grandfather  and  I  get  on  very  well 
And  I  have  been  wondering  whether,  when  you  and  ho  make 
that  pilgrimage  through  Scotland,  he  would  let  me  accompany 
you." 

In  her  beautiful  and  childlike  eyes  there  was  a  swift  flak.'h 
of  joy  that  made '  his  heart  leap,  so  direct  and  outspoken  an 
expression  it  was  of  her  gladness  to  think  of  such  a  thing; 
but  instantly  she  had  altered  her  look,  and  a  faint  flush  of 
color  had  overspread  her  face — the  pale  wild-rose  had  grown 
pink. 


lei 


STAND   FAST,  CRAIO-ROTBTOHt 


"  Your  way  of  trsrelling  and  ours  are  so  diflterent,"  she  said, 
gently. 

"  Oh,  but,"  said  he  with  eagerness,  "  you  don't  understand  how 
the  idea  of  a  long  wandering  on  foot  has  fascinated  me ;  why, 
that  would  bo  the  whole  charm  of  it  1  You  don't  know  me  at 
all  yet.  You  think  I  care  for  the  kind  of  thing  that  prevails 
here — that  I  can't  get  on  without  pineapples  and  chairs  with  gilt 
backs  ?  Why — but  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  myself  at  all ;  if 
you  would  let  me  go  with  you  on  that  pilgrimage  you  would 
find  out  a  little.  And  what  an  opportunity  it  will  be,  to  go 
with  yonr  grandfather  I  History,  poetry  and  romance  all  brought 
together :  Scotland  will  be  a  wonderful  country  for  you  before 
you  have  done  with  it.  And — and— you  see — I  have  gone  on 
pedestrian  excursions  before — I  have  a  pretty  broad  back — I  can 
carry  things.  You  might  engage  me  as  porter ;  for  even  when 
you  send  your  luggage  on,  there  will  be  a  few  odds  and  ends  to 
fill  a  knapsack  with  ;  and  I  can  tramp  like  any  gaberlunzie." 

She  smiled  a  little,  and  then  said,  more  seriously : 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  the  chance  of  speaking  to  you  about  that 
scheme  of  my  grandfather's ;  because,  Mr.  Harris,  you  must  try 
to  dissuade  him  from  it  as  much  as  possible." 

"  Dissuade  him  f" 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  quietly.  "  You  must  have  seen  how  com- 
pletely my  grandfather  lives  in  a  world  of  imagination,  and  how 
one  thing  captivates  him  after  another,  especially  if  it  is  con- 
nected with  Scotland  and  Scottish  song.  And  I  have  no  doubt 
he  would  write  a  beautiful  book  about  such  a  tour  as  that ;  for 
who  knows  more  about  all  the  places  and  the  legends  and  bal- 
lads f  It  would  be  a  pleasure  for  me  too— I  have  dreamed  of  it 
many  a  time.  But  it  is  impossible  for  the  present ;  and  it  will 
be  a  kindness  to  me,  Mr.  Harris,  if  yon  will  not  encourage  him 
in  it.  For  the  fact  is,"  she  continued,  with  a  little  embarrass- 
ment, "  my  grandfather  has  undertaken  to  write  something  else 
— and — and  he  is  under  personal  obligations  about  it — and  he 
must  not  be  allowed  to  forget  them." 

"  Oh,  yes,  1  quite  understand,"  Vincent  said.  "  I  have  heard 
of  that  volume  about  the  Scotch  poets  in  America.  Well,  you 
know  what  your  grandfather  says,  that  he  would  have  to  go  to 
the  other  side  to  collect  materialB ;  while,  being  here  in  this 
country  just  now,  he  might  as  well  take  you  to  those  scenes 


ITAITD   tABT,  OKAIO-ROTITOiri 


109 


•ent,"  e\e  said, 

inderstand  bow 
Ated  me ;  why, 
I't  know  me  at 
;  that  prevails 
chairs  with  gilt 
yself  at  all;  if 
age  yon  would 

will  be,  to  go 
ince  all  brought 
for  you  before 
[  have  gone  on 
ad  back — I  can 

for  even  when 

ids  and  ends  to 

aberlnnzie." 

ly: 

you  about  that 

i,  you  must  try 


seen  how  com- 
latioo,  and  how 
ly  if  it  is  con- 
have  no  doubt 
or  as  that ;  for 
jgends  and  bal- 
e  dreamed  of  it 
ent ;  and  it  will 
encourage  him 
ittle  embarrasB- 
something  else 
>out  it — and  he 

"  I  have  heard 
rica.  Well,  you 
i  have  to  go  to 
)g  here  in  this 
to  those  scenes 


and  places  that  would  make  up  another  book,  to  b«  written  sub- 
sequently. However,  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  right  The  pos- 
sibility of  my  going  along  with  you  two  on  such  an  excursion 
has  been  a  wonderful  thing  for  me  to  speculate  on ;  but  what- 
ever you  wish,  that  is  enough.  I  am  against  the  Scotch  trip 
now,  so  far  as  I  have  any  right  to  speak." 

She  was  looking  at  him  inquiringly,  and  yet  diflSdently,  as  if 
she  were  asking  herself  how  far  she  might  confide  in  him. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  not  noticed  it,  Mr.  Harris,"  she  added, 
still  regarding  him,  «•  but  my  grandfather  has  a  strange  faculty 
for  making  himself  believe  things.  I  dare  say  if  he  only  planned 
the  American  book  he  would  convince  himself  that  he  had  written 
it,  and  so  got  rid  of  those— those  obligations.  Well,  you  will 
help  me,  will  you  not  t  for  I  am  anxious  to  see  it  done ;  and  he 
may  ijay  I  am  too  young  and  too  ignorant  to  give  advice — as  I 
am—" 

"  Why,"  said  Vincent,  almost  indignantly,  "  do  you  think  I 
cannot  see  how  you  guide  and  lead  him  always,  and  with  such  a 
tact  and  wisdom  and  gentleness  as  I  never  beheld  anywhere  I" 

Maisrie  flushed  downright  red  this  time ;  but  she  sought  to 
conceal  her  confusion  by  saying  quickly : 

"Then,  agfun,  you  must  not  misunderstand  me,  Mr.  Harris; 
you  must  not  think  I  am  saying  anything  against  my  grand- 
father ;  I  am  only  telling  you  of  one  little  peculiarity  he  has. 
Saying  anything  against  him !  I  think  I  could  not  well  do  that, 
for  he  has  been  goodness  itself  to  me  since  ever  I  can  remember 
anything.  There  is  nothing  he  would  not  sacrifice  for  my  sake ; 
sometimes  it  is  almost  painful  to  me  to  see  an  old  man,  who 
should  be  the  petted  one  and  the  cared  for,  so  ready  to  give  up 
his  own  wants  and  wishes  to  please  a  mere  girl  who  is  worthy 
of  no  consideration  whatever.  And  consideration  is  not  the 
word  for  what  I  have  received  from  my  grandfather  always  and 
always ;  and  if  I  could  forget  all  he  ha>  done  for  me  and  been  to 
me— if  I  could  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  forget  all  those  years  of 
affection  and  sympathy  and  constant  kindness — ^" 

She  never  finished  the  sentence.  He  fancied  her  eyes  were 
moist  as  she  turned  her  head  away ;  anyhow,  he  dared  not  break 
in  upon  the  silence — ^these  confidences  had  been  sacred  things. 
And,  indeed,  there  was  no  opportunity  for  further  speech  on  this 
subject,  for  presently  old  George  Bethune  made  his  appeanmee, 


£j3»£S&Si£ii 


■JLA.'Lft  ■<!fcWg' 


110 


■TAirD  WUet,  ORAKhBOTWOirl 


radiant,  bnoyant,  high-Bpirited,  with  a  sonorons  stanza  from  Tan^ 
nahill  to  moot  the  awakening  of  tho  new  day. 

Now  no  sooner  bad  Lord  Musselburgh  arrived  on  board  the 
"  Villeggiatura  "  on  the  same  morning  than  Mrs.  Ellison  went  to 
him  and  told  him  all  her  story,  which  very  much  surprised  him, 
and  also  concerned  him  not  a  little,  for  it  seemed  as  though  he 
was  in  a  measure  responsible  for  what  had  happened  to  Vincent 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Ellison,"  said  he, "  I  can  assure  yon  of  one 
thing :  it  is  quite  true  that  your  nephew  was  in  the  room  when 
Mr.  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter  called  on  me,  but  I  am 
positively  certain  that  there  was  no  introduction,  and  that  he 
did  not  speak  a  single  word  to  them  there.  How  he  got  to  know 
them  I  cannot  imagine,  nor  how  they  could  have  become  so  in- 
timate that  he  should  ask  them  to  be  his  guests  down  here  at 
Henley.  And  his  sole  guests,  you  say  t  Yes,  I  admit  it  looks 
queer.    I  hope  to  goodness  there  is  no  kind  of  entanglement — " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison  in  sudden  alarm, "  don't  imagine  any- 
thing from  what  I  have  told  you  I  There  may  be  nothing  in  it ; 
he  as  good  as  declared  there  was  nothing  in  it,  and  he  is  so  fiery 
and  sensitive — on  this  one  point — why,  that  is  the  most  serious 
feature  of  it  all  I  He  looks  you  straight  in  the  face,  and  dares 
you  to  suspect  anything.  But  really — really — to  have  those  two 
companions,  and  no  othera,  on  a  house-boat  at  Henley :  it  is  a 
challenge  to  the  worlH  1" 

*'  Looks  rather  '''u  it,"  said  Lord  Musselburgh ;  and  then  he 
added:  *'0f  course  you  know  that  Vin  has  always  been  a 
quixotic  kind  of  chap,  doing  impossible  things  if  he  thought 
tiiem  right,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  it's  very  awkward 
just  at  this  moment.  There  must  be  some  powerful  attraction 
of  one  kind  or  another  to  have  made  him  give  himself  over  so 
completely  to  those  new  friends,  for  he  has  not  been  near  me 
of  late ;  and  yet  here  I  have  in  my  pocket  a  letter  that  concerns 
him  very  closely,  if  only  he  would  pay  attention  to  it  I  don't 
mind  telling  you,  Mrs.  Ellison,  for  you  are  discretion  itself — " 

"  I  think  you  may  trust  me,  Lord  Musselbui^h,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  he,  lowering  his  voice.  "  I  hear  that 
there  will  be  a  vacancy  at  Mendover — certainly  at  the  next 
General  Election,  but  more  probably  much  sooner.  Old  Gkwf  ord 
has  become  rich  a  confirmed  hypochondriac  that  be  will  hardly 


'•'^-y '•"■•■■■-     '    ■iiiiir.^^mafcMMjM 


STAND   FAST,  ORAIO-BOTBTOH I 


111 


I  from  Tan- 
board  the 
ion  went  to 
prisod  him, 
though  he 
to  Vincent 
pen  of  one 
room  when 
,  but  I  am 
ind  that  he 
got  to  know 
come  so  in- 
>wn  here  at 
mit  it  looks 
tglemont — ^ 
magine  any- 
)thing  in  it ; 
be  is  so  fiery 
most  serious 
e,  and  dares 
ve  those  two 
[ley:  it  is  a 

ind  then  he 
[ays  been  a 
he  thought 
awkward 
Z  attraction 
[self  orer  so 

in  near  me 
lat  concerns 
lit.  I  don't 
itself—" 

"  she  said, 

1 1  hear  that 
it  the  next 
)ld  Gosf ord 
I  will  hardly 


leave  his  room,  and  his  constituents  are  grumbling  as  much  as 
thoy  dare — for  he  has  got  money,  you  know,  and  the  public  park 
ho  gave  them  wants  further  laying  out,  and  statues  and  things. 
Very  well;  now  I  have  in  my  pocket  a  darkly  discreet  letter 
from  the  committee  of  the  Mendover  Liberal  Association  asking 
me  to  go  down  and  deliver  an  address  at  their  next  meeting, 
and  hinting  that  if  I  could  bring  with  me  an  acceptable  can- 
didate—" 

He  paused,  and  for  a  second  a  cynical  but  perfectly  good- 
humored  laugh  appeared  in  his  eyes. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Ellison,"  said  he,  "  I  am  deeply  grateful.  I 
thought  you  might  express  some  astonishment  at  my  being 
consulted  in  so  important  an  affair.  Bui  the  fact  is  I  also  am 
expected  to  do  something  for  that  park,  and  perhaps  this  in- 
vitation was  only  a  little  hint  to  remind  me  of  my  local  respon- 
sibilities. However,  that  is  how  the  case  stands ;  and  I  had 
thought  of  taking  your  nephew  down  with  me — " 

"  A  vacancy  at  Mendover,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  in  awestruck 
tones, "  where  you  are  simply  everybody  t  Oh,  Lord  Musselburgh, 
what  a  chance  for  Vin  1" 

"  And  then,  you  know,"  continued  the  young  peer, "  I  want 
to  bring  him  out  as  a  Tory  Democrat,  for  that  is  a  fine,  bewilder- 
ing sort  of  thing,  that  provokes  curiosity ;  you  call  yourself  a 
Tory  and  can  be  as  revolutionary  as  you  like,  so  that  you  capture 
votes  all  round.  Why,  I've  got  v-^'a  programme  all  ready  for 
him  in  my  pocket :  a  graduated  income-tax,  free  education, 
leasehold  enfranchisement,  compulsory  insurance,  anything  and 
everything  you  like  except  disestablishment.  Disestablishment 
won't  work  at  Mendover.  Now,  you  see,  Mrs.  Ellison,  if  I  could 
get  Vin  properly  coached,  he  has  all  the  natural  fervor  that 
unhappily  I  lack;  and  after  I  had  made  my  few  little  jokes 
which  they  kindly  take  for  a  speech,  I  could  produce  him  and 
say, '  Hero,  now,  is  the  young  politician  of  the  new  generation ; 
here's  your  coming  man;  this  is  the  kind  of  member  the  next 
quarter  of  a  century  must  return  to  the  House  of  Commons.' 
But  if  there  is  any  Delilah  in  the  way—" 

Mrs.  Ellison  crimsoned. 

*'  No,  Lord  Musselbcrgh,"  she  said—"  no.  Ton  need  have 
no  fear." 

HowcTcr,  she  seemed  perturbed — ^perhaps  in  her  anxiety  that 


ua 


ITAITD  FAIT,  OKAIO-BOTtTOV  I 


her  nephew  shonld  not  miis  this  great  opportnnitj.    PreBently 
■he  said: 

"  Tell  me,  what  do  yoa  know  of  this  old  man  f  I  can't  make 
him  out  at  all." 

"If  I  know  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,"  he  said,  lightly,  as 
he  gated  abroad  on  the  busy  river.  "  I  remember  Vin  asking 
me  the  same  question — I  suppose  out  of  curiosity  about  the  girl. 
My  recollection  of  her  is  that  she  was  extremely  pretty,  refined- 
looking,  ladylike  ;  in  fact — " 

"  She  is,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  with  decision,  "  and  that 
is  what  makes  the  situation  all  the  more  dangerous — assuming, 
of  course,  that  there  is  any  ground  for  one's  natural  suspicions. 
No ;  Vin  is  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  be  captured  by  any 
vulgar  adventuress.  He  is  at  once  too  fastidiocs  and  too  proud. 
But  then,  you  see,  ho  is  well  known  to  be  the  son  of  a  very  wealthy 
man ;  and  there  might  bo  a  design — "  She  hesitated  for  a 
moment ;  then  she  said,  half  impatiently,  "  Lord  Musselburgh, 
tell  me  how  you  came  to  know  this  old  man :  he  could  not  have 
sprung  out  of  the  earth  all  of  a  sudden." 

He  told  her,  as  briefly  as  might  be. 

"That  was  all ?"  she  repeated,  eying  him  shrewdly. 

"Yes." 

"  You  are  sure  I" 

"  What  do  you  mean  f  That  is  really  all  I  know  of  the  old 
gentleman ;  isn't  that  what  you  asked !" 

"  But  was  that  the  whole  of  the  interview,  if  I  may  be  so  im- 
pertinent >i8  to  inquire !"  she  demanded  again. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  was,"  Lord  Musselburgh  said ;  and  then  he  add- 
ed, indifferently,  "  Of  course  I  subscribed  something  towards 
the  publication  of  a  book  ho  mentioned— he  had  written  to  tn 
before  about  the  project" 

"  Oh,  there  was  money  t"  she  said. 

A  slight  tinge  on  Lord  Musselburgh's  sorehead  showed  that 
he  had  not  intended  to  make  this  admission. 

"  Oh,  nothing — a  trifle ;  it  is  usual  when  a  book  is  coming  out 
by  subscription." 

Mrs.  Ellison  sat  silent  for  a  little  while ;  there  was  plenty 
going  on  upon  the  river  to  interest  her  companion.  Then  by-and- 
by  she  said,  slowly : 

'<  Well,  I  had  intended  to  keep  dear  of  these  new  friends  of 


MMWOTtMU**^ 


■TAHD  TAtft,  OmAIO-llOTITOirt 


iia 


Ity.    rrewntly 

I    I  cftn*t  m»ke 

Mid,  llgbtly,  as 
iber  Vin  asking 
y  about  tho  girl. 
f  pretty,  refined- 

igion, "  and  that 
louB — assaming, 
itural  BUBpiciona. 
captured  by  any 
.'.8  and  too  proud, 
of  a  very  wealthy 
hcBitatod  for  a 
>rd  Musselburgh, 
le  could  not  have 


ewdly. 

know  of  the  old 
1 1  may  be  so  inl- 
and then  be  add- 
mething  towards 
written  to  tot 

lead  showed  that 

ok  is  coining  out 

I  there  was  plenty 
an.    Thenby-«nd- 

iao  new  friends  of 


Yin's.  I  thought  it  would  be  more  prudent  for  me  to  know 
nothing.  It  is  true  I  was  introduced  to  them  yesterday  after- 
noon, but  I  wished  that  to  bo  all ;  I  thought  I  would  rather 
withdraw,  and  let  things  take  their  course.  But  I  don't  know 
that  that  would  be  honest  and  right.  Yin  is  a  young  man  with 
many  fine  and  noble  qualities;  perhaps  a  liUle  too  fine  and 
noble  for  the  ordinary  work-a-day  world ;  and  I  think  he  ought 
to  have  the  benefit  of  my  sadly-earned  experience  and  callous 
nature — " 

Lord  Musselburgh  laughed ;  he  did  not  take  her  too  seriously. 

"  He  is  my  own  boy,"  she  continued ;  **  I  would  do  anything 
for  him.  And  I'm  not  going  to  let  him  be  entrapped,  if  that  is 
what  all  this  means.  I  know  he  is  very  angry  with  me  just  now ; 
probably  he  would  not  speak  to  me  if  he  were  to  meet  me  this 
minute,  but  that  won't  prevent  my  speaking  to  him.  I'm  going 
to  put  my  pride  in  my  pocket.  Lord  Musselburgh.  I'm  going 
to  find  out  something  more  about  this  picturesque  old  gentle- 
man, who  talks  so  grandly  about  the  Beatons  and  the  De  Bo- 
thunes  and  their  coats-of-arms,  and  who  accepts  a  £10  note — or 
perhaps  only  a  £6  note  f — on  account  of  a  book  that  is  not  yet 
published.  And  if  there  is  any  sort  of  scheme  on  foot  for  getting 
hold  of  the  son  of  so  notoriously  wealthy  a  man  as  Harland 
Harris,  then  I  want  to  make  a  little  inquiry.  Yesterday  Yin  in- 
dignantly complained  that  I  was  prejudiced,  and  that  I  had  no 
right  to  form  any  opinion  about  those  friends  of  his,  because  I 
would  not  go  along  and  dine  with  him  and  them  last  evening. 
Yery  well ;  I  will  go  to  him,  and  make  up  the  quarrel,  and  ask 
him  to  repeat  the  invitation  for  this  evening." 

"  For  this  evening !"  repeated  Lord  Musselburgh,  in  tones  of 
deep  disappointment.  "  You  don't  mean  you  are  going  to  leave 
all  your  friends  here  and  go  and  dine  oonrcwhere  else  I" 

"  If  I  can  procure  an  invitation.  It  is  my  duty.  I'm  not  p- 
ing  to  let  my  boy  be  made  a  fool  of,  oven  if  I  have  to  sacrifice 
a  little  of  my  own  personal  comfort." 

"  Yes,  that's  all  very  well,"  said  Lord  Musselburgh,  gloomily, 
"  but  I  did  not  bargain  for  your  goir.g  away  like  that  on  the 
only  evening  I  shall  be  here.     If  I  had  known — " 

He  wau  on  the  point  of  saying  he  would  not  have  come  down, 
but  that  would  have  been  too  bold  an  avowuL    He  suddenly  hit 
upon  another  happy  suggestion. 
8 


"^rmfr 


\\i 


■TAND   PAST,  ORAIC-nOTtTOiri 


r  !,**, 


|^:i 


"  Y<>  I  HBid  tliHt  Vin  had  only  thoso  two  on  board  w!th  liimt 
Well,  if  ho  h«Lh  you  to  dino  with  him,  won't  he  auk  mo,  tool" 

Mrs.  Eiliaun  Inughud,  and  Hhook  her  liuad. 

"  No,  no.  Another  atrnnf^cr  would  put  them  on  their  ){uar<l. 
I  must  manage  my  private  invostiifittion  all  by  myself.  Dut  you 
need  not  look  so  disconsolate.  Tliere  are  some  really  nice  peo- 
ple hero,  an  you'll  find  out  by-and-by ;  and  the  Druxol  girls  are 
driving  over  from  (Jroat  Marlow.  They  are  Americans,  so  you 
will  be  properly  appreciated ;  they  will  try  their  best  to  make 
you  happy." 

"  How  late  shall  you  stay  on  board  Yin's  boat  t"  he  naked, 
heedless  of  these  smaller  attractions. 

"  I  shall  bo  back  by  ten  ;  perhaps  by  half-past  nine." 

'*  Is  that  a  promise  ?" 

•"  Yes,  it  is — ten  at  latest." 

"Otherwise  I  should  go  back  to  town  in  the  afternoon,"  said 
he,  frankly. 

'•  What  nonsense  I"  the  young  widow  exclaimed  (but  she  did 
not  seem  resentful).  "  Well,  now,  I  must  go  along  to  the  '  White 
Ilose,'  and  make  my  peace,  and  angle  for  an  invitation  ;  and  then, 
if  I  get  it,  I  must  coticoct  my  excuses  for  Mrw.  Lawrence.  Any- 
how, I  shall  bo  on  board  tho '  V^illeggiatuni '  all  the  afternoon,  and 
then  I  hopo  to  have  the  pleasure  of  introducing  you  to  Louie 
Droxcl — that  is  tho  young  lady  I  have  designed  for  Vin  when 
he  has  shaken  off  those  adventurers  and  come  to  his  right  mind." 

Almost  immediately  thereafter  Mrs.  Ellison  had  secured  a  boat- 
man to  pull  her  along  to  the  "  White  Uoso  ;"  and  as  she  drew  near 
she  perceived  that  Maisrio  Bethuno  was  alone  in  tho  stern  of  tho 
house-boat,  standing  upright  on  tho  steering-thwart,  and  with  both 
hands  holding  a  pair  of  ticld-glasses  to  her  eyes — an  unconscious 
attitude  that  shov.  >.  tho  graceful  figure  of  the  girl  to  tho  best 
advantage.  The  observant  visitor  could  also  remark  that  her  cos- 
tume was  simplicity  itself — a  blouse  of  white,  soft  stuff,  with 
wide  sleeves  and  tight  cuffs,  a  bolt  of  white  silk  round  her  waist, 
and  a  skirt  of  blue  sorgo.  She  wore  no  head-covering,  and  her 
neatly-braided  hair  caught  several  soft-shining  hues  from  the  sun 
— not  a  wonder  and  glory  of  hair  perhaps  (as  Yin  Harris  would 
have  deemed  it),  bat  very  attractive  all  the  same  to  tho  feminine 
eye,  and  somehow  suggestive  of  girlhood,  and  making  for  sym- 
pathy.    And  then,  when  a  "  Good-morning  1"  brought  ronnd  a 


-■ffr 


?:;raj"x.''  -. 


t  nina 


10(1  (but  she  did 
igtotho'  White 
Htion ;  and  then, 
Linwrenco.    Any- 
0  afternoon,  and 
p;  you  to  Louio 
for  Vin  when 
lis  right  mind." 
secured  a  boat- 
18  she  drew  near 
10  stern  of  the 
rt,and  with  both 
-an  unconscious 
girl  to  the  best 
Eirk  that  her  cos- 
soft  stuff,  with 
■ound  her  waist, 
ivering,  and  her 
les  from  the  sun 
in  Harris  would 
to  the  feminiDe 
taking  for  sym- 
rought  round  a 


mm 


mrf^-^r^-i^i-f  ^"-fiifi t\'  -"'-'•  ■'■'-'"■  ■  ■     '^^"M '  V ■"r'^ -f  li-m 


BTAITD   FAST,  ORAI^'BOTBTOITI  ''■'i'.fHlS 

startled  face  and  a  proud,  clear  loo|i  that  wm^o|;bing  abashdd'^ 
or  ashamed,  Mrs.  Ellison's  conscient^e 'ismote  heisQte^  she  had  ^'-'^r 
made  use  of  the  word  "  adventuress,'' iRpd  bade  her  wMuilnd  see.     -^^ 

"  6ood-moming,"  Maisric  Bethune  aitftwcfj^d,  and  there  <^^e     ^  V 
a  touch  of  color  to  the  fine  and  sensitive  IsfiturM  as  she  knew         v 
that  the  young  matron  was  regarding  her  v^ha  iOOBtinuation       JJ 
of  the  curiosity  of  the  preceding  afternoon.  *^*^1_^  '     .•*^ 

"  Have  the  gentlemen  deserted  you  ?  Are  you  alTSlSSST' 
Mrs.  Ellison  said. 

"  Oh,  no ;  they  are  inside,"  was  her  response.  "  Would  you 
like  to  see  Mr.  Harris  f    Shall  I  call  him  i" 

<<  If  you  will  be  so  kind ;"  and  therewith  Maisrio  disappeared 
into  the  saloon,  and  did  not  return. 

It  was  Vincent  that  came  out — with  terrible  things  written 
on  his  brow. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Vincent  Harris  1"  Mrs.  Ellison 
exclaimed,  half  laughing  and  half  annoyed.  "  What  have  I 
done!  It  is  you  who  are  so  hasty  and  inconsiderate.  But 
I've  come  to  make  it  all  up  with  you,  and  to  ask  you  to  ask  rae 
to  dine  with  you  to-night." 

"  No,  thank  yon,  aunt,"  he  said,  civilly  enough.  "  You  are 
very  kind ;  but  the  fact  is,  you  would  come  with  a  prejudice, 
and  so  you'd  better  not  come  at  all." 

Well,  she  had  to  be  circumspect;  for  not  only  was  her  own 
boatman  behind  her,  but  there  was  a  possibi.  'y  of  bome  stray 
sentence  penetrating  into  the  saloon. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  a  a  sort  of  undertone,  to  him ;  and  she 
had  a  pretty  coaxing,  good-natured  way  with  her  when  she  chose« 
"  I  am  not  going  to  allow  you  to  quarrel  with  me,  Vin ;  and  I 
bring  a  flag  of  truce  and  honorable  proposals.  I  saw  you  were 
offended  with  me  last  evening;  and  perhaps  I  was  a  little  selfish 
in  refusing  your  invitation,  but  you  see  I  confess  the  error  of 
ray  ways,  for  here  I  am  begging  you  to  ask  me  again." 

"  Oh,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  aunt — " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  put  it  that  way  !"  she  said.  "  Not  if  you 
speak  like  that.  Come,  be  amiable  t ,  I've  just  been  talking  to 
Lord  Musselburgh — " 

'  And,  of  oonrse,  you  crammed  all  your  wild  ideas  into  his 
head  I"  he  <)xclaimed. 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  poor  me  having  ideas  t"  she  said,  with  a 


STffiSSfflSHS 


A-UJtkur^JiitiSir.mm 


118 


STAND   VAST,  0RAIO-BOT8TON  I 


winning  good-humor  to  which  he  could  not  but  yield.  "  It  isn't 
for  me  to  have  ideas,  but  I  may  have  prejudices ;  and  Fm  going 
to  leave  them  all  on  board  the '  Villeggiatura '  this  evening,  if  you 
say 'Yes.'" 

"  Of  course  I  say  '  Yes,'  when  you  are  like  yourself,  aunt," 
he  responded  at  once,  "  and  I  shall  be  very  glad  indeed.  And, 
what  is  more,"  he  said  in  a  still  ^ower  tone, "  when  you  have 
really  met — certain  people — and  when  you  have  to  confess  that 
you  have  been  unjust,  I  don't  mean  to  triumph  over  you.  Not 
a  bit  If  you  have  done  any  injustice,  you  knov  yourself  how 
to  make  it  up— to  them.  Now,  that's  all  right  and  settled ;  and 
Vm  really  glad  you're  coming.  Seven  o'clock,  and  the  dross 
you've  got  on." 

"  Oh,  but,  mind  you,"  said  she, "  you  don't  seem  to  appreciate 
my  goodness  in  humbling  myself  so  as  to  pacify  your  honorable 
worship.  Do  you  know  what  I  shall  have  to  do  besides  f  How 
am  I  to  explain  to  the  Lawrences  my  running  away  from  their 
party !  And  here  is  Lord  Musselburgh  come  down ;  and  the 
Drexel  girls  are  expected ;  so  you  see  what  I  am  doing  for  you, 
Vin— " 

"You're  always  good  to  roe,  aunt — when  you  choose  to  be 
reasonable  and  exercise  your  common-sense — " 

"Common-sense !"  she  retorted,  with  a  malicious  laugh  in  her 
eyes.  Then  she  said,  quite  seriously,  "  Very  well,  Vin,  seven 
o'clock ;  that  is  an  excellent  hour,  leaving  us  all  a  nice  long 
evening ;  for  I  must  get  back  to  the  ♦  Villeggiatura '  early." 

And  so  it  was  all  well  and  amicably  settled.  But  Master 
Vin,  though  young  in  years,  had  not  tumbled  about  the  world 
for  nothing ;  and  a  little  reflection  convinced  him  that  his  pretty 
aunt's  change  of  purpose — ^her  abandonment  of  her  resolve  to 
remain  discreetly  aloof — ^had  not  been  prompted  solely,  if  at  all, 
by  her  wish  to  have  that  little  misunderstanding  between  him  and 
her  removed.  That  could  have  been  done  at  any  time ;  a  few 
'words  of  apology  and  appeal,  and  there  an  end.  This  humble 
seeking  for  an  invitation  which  she  had  definitely  refused  the 
day  before  meant  more  than  that ;  it  meant  that  she  had  resolved 
to  find  out  something  further  about  these  strangers.  Very  well, 
then ;  she  was  welcome.  At  the  same  time  he  was  resolved  to 
receive  this  second  visit  not  as  ho  had  received  the  first  He 
was  no  longer  anxious  about  the  impression  these  two  friends 


•IMIMWPMPI 


wa 


■MiMna 


8TAHD   FAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTOV  I 


117 


yield.  "It isn't 
;  and  I'm  going 
J  evening,  if  you 

yourself,  aunt," 
[  indeed.  And, 
when  you  have 
I  to  confess  that 
over  you.  Not 
iv,  yourself  how 
nd settled;  and 
:,  and  the  dross 

lem  to  appreciate 
Y  your  honorable 

besides  f  How 
away  from  their 

down ;  and  the 
m  doing  for  you, 

au  choose  to  be 

lous  laugh  in  her 
well,  Vin,  seven 

all  a  nice  long 
tura '  early." 
ed.    But  Master 

bout  the  world 
m  that  his  pretty 
f  her  resolve  to 
id  solely,  if  at  all, 

)etween  him  and 
any  time ;  a  few 
This  humble 
itely  refused  the 
she  had  resolved 
fers.    Very  well, 

was  resolved  to 
)d  the  first  He 
hese  two  friends 


of  his  might  produce  on  this  the  first  of  his  relatives  to  meet 
them.  She  might  form  any  opinion  she  chose ;  he  was  indiffcr* 
ent.  Nay,  he  would  stand  by  them  on  every  point,  and  justify 
them,  and  defy  criticism.  If  he  had  dared,  he  would  have  gone 
to  Maisrie  and  said,  "  My  aunt  is  coming  to  dinner  to-night ; 
but  I  will  not  allow  you  to  submit  yourself  to  any  ordeal  of  in- 
spection. You  shall  dress  as  you  like ;  as  carelessly  or  as  neatly 
as  you  like ;  you  shall  wear  your  hair  hanging  down  your  back 
or  braided  up,  without  any  thought  of  her ;  you  shall  bn  as  silent 
as  you  wish,  and  leave  her,  if  she  chooses,  to  call  you  stupid,  or 
shy,  or  sulky,  or  anything  else."  And  he  would  have  gone  to 
the  old  man  and  said :  "  Talk  as  much  and  as  long  as  ever  you 
have  a  mind ;  you  cannot  babble  o'  green  fields  too  discursively 
for  me.  I,  at  all  events,  am  sufficiently  interested  in  your  claims 
of  proud  lineage,  in  your  enthusiasm  about  Scotland  and  Scot- 
tish song,  in  your  reminiscences  of  many  lands.  Be  as  self- 
complacent  and  pompous  as  you  please.  Fear  nothing;  fear 
criticism  least  of  all."  And  perhaps,  in  like  manner,  he  would 
have  addressed  Mrs.  Ellison  herself :  "  My  dear  aunt,  it  is  not 
they  who  are  on  their  trial ;  it  is  you.  It  is  you  who  have  to 
show  whether  you  have  the  courage  of  honest  judgment  or  are 
the  mere  slave  of  social  custom  and  forms."  For  perhaps  he, 
too,  had  imbibed  a  little  of  the  "  Stand  fast,  Cnug-Royston !" 
spirit  Bravado  may  be  catching,  especially  where  an  innocent 
and  interesting  young  creature  of  eighteen  or  so  is  in  danger  of 
being  exposed  to  some  deadly  approach. 

Of  course,  this  carelessly  defiant  attitude  did  not  prevent  his 
being  secretly  pleased  when,  as  seven  o'clock  drew  near,  he  per- 
ceived that  Maisrie  Bethune  had  arranged  herself  in  an  extreme- 
ly pretty,  if  clearly  inexpensive,  costume ;  and,  also,  he  was  in 
no  wise  chagrined  to  find  that  Mrs.  Ellison,  on  her  arrival,  ap- 
peared to  be  in  a  very  amiable  mood.  There  was  no  need  to 
ask  her, "  Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war  t"  Her 
manner  was  most  bland ;  in  particnUur,  she  was  adroitly  flatter- 
ing and  fascinating  towards  old  George  Bethune,  who  accepted 
these  little  attentions  from  the  charming  widow  with  a  grave  and 
consequential  dignity.  The  young  host  refused  to  sit  at  the  head 
of  the  table ;  he  had  the  places  arranged  two  and  two ;  Mrs. 
Ellison,  of  oonrse,  as  the  greater  stranger  and  the  elder  woman, 
on  his  right,  and  Maisrie  opposite  to  him.    Daring  the  general 


118 


STAND   FAST,  CFAIO-ROTBTOM I 


dinner-talk,  which  vraa  raoafij  about  the  crowd  and  tie  races 
and  the  dresses,  Mrs.  Ellisoj  casually  informed  her  nephew  that 
she  had  that  afternoon  won  two  bets,  and  also  discovered  that 
she  and  Lord  Musselburgh  were  to  meet  at  the  same  house  in 
Scotland  the  coming  autumn.  Perhaps  this  was  the  explana- 
tion of  iter  extreme  and  obvious  good-humor. 

And  if  any  deep  and  sinister  design  underlay  this  excessive  amia- 
bility on  her  part,  it  was  successfully  concealed ;  meantime  all  was 
pleasantness  and  peace,  and  the  old  gentleman,  encouraged  by 
her  artless  confidences,  spoke  more  freely  and  frankly  about  the 
circumstances  of  himself  and  his  granddaughter  than  was  his  wont 

"  I  see  some  of  the  papers  are  indignant  about  what  they  call 
the  vulgar  display  of  wealth  at  Henley  Regatta,"  the  young 
widow  was  saying,  in  a  very  unconcerned  and  easy  fashion; 
"  but  I  wish  those  gentlemen  would  remember  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  imputation  of  motives,  And  that  imputing  motives  is 
a  common  resource  of  envy.  If  I  have  a  house-boat,  and  try  to 
make  it  as  pretty  as  ever  I  can,  both  inside  and  out,  why  should 
that  be  considered  display  of  wealth — display  of  any  sort  f  I 
like  nice  things  and  comfortable  things  around  me ;  I  don't  mind 
confessing  it — I  am  a  selfish  woman — " 

'*  There  are  some  who  know  better,  aunt,"  her  nephew  inter- 
posed. 

"  Young  gentleman,"  said  she,  promptly, "  your  evidence  isn't 
worth  anything,  for  you  have  expectations.  And  I  am  not  to 
be  flatte.43d.  I  admit  that  I  am  a  selfish  and  comfort-loving 
woman,  and  I  like  to  see  pretty  things  around  me,  and  an  abun- 
dance of  them,  and  if  I  can  only  have 'these  at  the  cost  of  being 
charged  with  ostentation  and  display,  very  well — I  will  pay  the 
price.  If  it  comes  to  that,  I  never  saw  anything  beautiful  or 
desirable  in  poverty.  Poverty  is  not  beautiful — never  was,  never 
is,  never  will  be  beautiful.  It  is  base  and  squalid  and  sordid ; 
it  demeans  men's  minds,  and  stunts  their  bodies.  I  dare  say 
poverty  is  an  excellent  discipline — for  the  rich,  if  they  would 
only  submit  to  a  six-months'  dose  of  it  now  and  again ;  but  it  is 
not  a  discipline  at  all  for  the  poor — it  is  a  curse.  It  is  the  most 
cruel  and  baleful  thing  in  the  world,  destroying  self-respect,  de- 
stroying hope,  ambition,  everything.  Oh,  I  know  the  heresy  I'm 
talking.  There's  Master  Yin's  papa — ^be  is  never  done  preach- 
ing the  divine  attributes  of  poverty,  and  I  have  no  doubt  there 


■Pi 


STAND   rABT,  ORA'I-ROTSTOR  t 


110 


and  tie  races 
!r  nepbew  that 
iscovered  that 
same  house  in 
B  the  explana- 

excessiveamia- 
eantime  all  was 
encoaraged  by 
ankly  about  the 
AD  was  his  wont- 
i  what  they  call 
ta,"  the  young 
I  easy  fashion; 
at  there  is  such 
iting  motives  is 
boat,  and  try  to 
out,  why  should 
af  any  sort!    I 
e;  I  don't  mind 

ir  nephew  inter- 

ir  evidence  isn't 
id  I  am  not  to 
comfort-loving 
le,  and  an  abun- 
le  cost  of  being 
-I  will  pay  the 
Ing  beautiful  or 
lever  was,  never 
Llid  and  sordid ; 
jes.    I  dare  say 
|,  if  they  would 
[again ;  but  it  is 
It  is  the  most 
[self-respect,  de- 
the  heresy  I'm 
sr  done  preach- 
no  doubt  there 


are  a  good  many  others  who  would  be  content  to  fall  down  and 
worship  la  bonne  diesse  de  la  pauvreti — on  £30,000  a  year  1" 

Master  Vin  sniggered ;  he  was  aware  that  this  was  not  the  only 
direction  in  which  the  principles  and  practice  of  the  philosopher 
of  Grosvcnor  Place  were  somewhat  inconsistent  However,  it  was 
old  Oeorge  Bethune  who  now  spoke,  as  one  having  experience. 

"  I  quite  agree,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Ellison.  "  I  can  conceive  of 
nothing  more  demoralizing  to  the  nature  of  man  or  woman  than 
harsh  and  hopeless  poverty,  a  slavery  from  which  there  is  no 
prospect  of  escape.  My  granddaughter  and  I  have  known  what 
it  is  to  be  poor ;  we  know  it  now ;  but  in  our  case  every  day 
brings  possibilities — we  breathe  a  wider  air,  knowing  that  at 
any  moment  news  may  come.  Then  Fancy  plays  her  part,  and 
Imagination  can  brighten  the  next  day  for  us,  if  the  present  be 
dark  enough.  Hopeless  poverty — that  is  the  terrible  thing — 
the  wear}'  toil  leading  to  nothing,  perhaps  the  unfortunate  wretch 
sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  Slough  of  Despond.  Mais- 
rie  and  I  have  met  wiUi  trials,  but  we  have  borne  them  with  a 
stout  heart ;  and  perhaps  we  have  been  cheered — at  least,  I  know 
I  bare  been — by  some  distant  prospect  of  the  Bonnie  Mill-dams 
o'  Balloray,  and  a  happier  future  for  us  both." 

'*  Balloray  t"  she  repeated,  inquiringly. 

"Balloray,  in  Fife.  Perhaps  you  have  never  heard  of  the 
Balloray  lawsuit,  and  I  will  not  inflict  any  history  of  it  upon  yon 
at  present,"  he  continued,  with  lofty  complaisance.  "I  was 
merely  saying  that  poverty  is  not  so  hard  to  bear  when  there 
arc  brighter  possibilities  always  before  you.  If,  in  our  case, 
wc  are  barred  in  law  by  the  Statute  of  Limitations,  there  is  no 
statute  of  limitations  in  the  chapter  of  accidents.  And  some 
remarkable  instances  have  occurred.  I  remember  one  in  which 
a  father,  two  sons,  and  a  daughter  were  all  drowned  at  once  by 
the  sinking  of  a  ship,  and  the  property  went  bodily  over  to  the 
younger  branch  of  the  family,  who  had  been  penniless  for  years. 
It  is  the  unexpeciod  that  happens,  according  to  the  saying ; 
and  so  we  move  from  day  to  day  towards  fresh  possibilities, 
and  who  can  tell  what  morning  may  npt  bring  us  a  summons  to 
make  straight  for  the  kingdom  of  Fife  f  Not  for  myself  do  I 
care — I  am  too  old  now ;  it  is  for  my  granddaughter  here ;  and 
I  should  pass  happily  away  and  contented  if  I  could  leave  her 
in  sole  and  undisputed  possession  of  the  anciest  lands  of  the 
Bethunes  of  Balloray." 


/     '  I 


A 


;] 


wr 


MMa 


mmti 


ISO 


STAND   FAST,  ORAIO-BOTBTOII I 


What  pang  was  this  that  shot  through  Vincent's  he»rt  t  Ho 
suddenly  saw  Maisrie  removed  from  him — a  great  heiress,  unap- 
proachable, guarded  by  this  old  man  with  his  nnconquerable 
pride  of  lineage  and  birth.  She-  might  not  forget  old  friends, 
but  he  t  The  Harris  family  had  plenty  of  money,  but  they  had 
nothing  to  add  to  the  fesse  between  three  mascles,  or,  aUd  the 
otter's  head ;  nor  had  any  of  their  ancestors,  so  far  as  was  known, 
accompanied  Margaret  of  Scotland  on  her  marriage  with  the 
Dauphin  of  France,  or  taken  arms  along  with  the  great  Maxi- 
milieu  do  BetLune,  Duo  de  Sully.  In  imagination  the  young 
man  saw  himself  a  lonely  pedestrian  in  Fifcshire,  regarding  from 
a  distance  a  vast  baronial  building  set  amid  black  Scotch  firs 
and  lighter  larches,  and  not  daring  even  to  draw  near  the  great 
gate  with  the  otter's  head  in  stone  over  the  archway.  He  saw 
the  horses  being  brought  round  to  the  front  entrance,  s  beauti- 
ful white  Arab  and  a  sturdy  cob ;  the  hall-door  opens,  the  heir- 
eA  of  Balloray  descends  the  wide  stone  steps,  she  is  assisted  to 
mount,  and  pats  that  beautiful  white  creature  on  the  neck.  And 
will  she  presently  come  cantering  by,  her  long  hair  flowing  to 
the  winds,  as  fair  as  it  used  to  be  in  the  olden  days,  when  the 
shifting  lights  and  mists  of  Hyde  Park  gave  it  ever-varying 
hues  f  Can  he  steal  aside  somewhere  ?  he  has  no  desire  to  claim 
recognition  I  She  has  forgotten  the  time  when,  in  the  homble 
lodgings,  she  used  to  sing,  "  Je  no  puis  rien  donner,  qa*  mon 
coBur  en  maringe ;"  she  has  wide  domains  now,  and  wears  an 
ancient  historic  name.  And  so  she  goes  along  the  white  high- 
way, and  und«r  the  swaying  bough  of  the  beeches,  until  she  is 
lost  in  a  confusion  of  green  and  gold. 

"  And  in  tho  meantime,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison  (Vincent  started ; 
had  that  bewildering  and  far-reaching  vision  been  revealed  to 
him  all  in  one  brief,  breathless  second  ?),  "  in  the  meantime,  Mr. 
Bethune,  you  must  derive  a  great  deal  of  comfort  and  solace 
from  your  literary  labors." 

"  My  literary  labors,"  said  the  old  man,  slowly  and  abcently, 
"  I  am  sorry  to  pay,  are  mostly  perfunctory  and  mechanical. 
They  occupy  attention  and  pass  the  time,  however ;  and  that  is 
much.  Perhaps  I  have  written  one  or  two  small  things  which 
may  survive  me  for  a  year  or  two ;  but,  if  that  should  be  so,  it 
will  be  owing,  not  to  any  merit  of  their  own,  but  to  the  patriots 
ism  of  my  countrymen.    Nay,  I  have  much  to  be  thankful  for," 


MMiMaak- 


nt'ihwTtt  Ho 
At  hei-ess,  onap- 
I  anconquerable 
rget  old  friends, 
ay,  but  they  had 
icles,  or,  attd  the 
ar  as  was  known, 
trriage  with  the 

the  great  Maxi- 
ation  the  young 
B,  regarding  from 
black  Scotch  firs 
iw  near  the  great 
■chway.    He  saw 
iitrance,  a  beauti- 
r  opens,  the  heir- 
she  is  assisted  to 
n  the  neck.    And 
J  hair  flowing  to 
n  days,  when  the 
e  it  ever-varying 
DO  desire  to  claim 
in,  in  the  humble 

donner,  qu'  mon 

DW,  and  wears  an 

the  white  high- 

)ches,  until  she  is 

(Vincent  started ; 

been  revealed  to 

bhe  meantime,  Mr. 

fmfort  and  solace 

rly  and  abcently, 
and  mechanical. 

|rever ;  and  that  is 

nail  things  which 
should  be  so,  it 

but  to  the  patriot- 
be  thankful  for," 


•TAKD   FAST,  OKAI'^-ROTSTOR  I 


tn 


ho  continued  in  the  same  resigned  fashion.  "  I  have  been  spared 
much.  If  1  had  been  a  famous  autho^  in  my  younger  days,  I 
should  now  be  reading  the  things  I  had  written  then  with  the 
knowledge  that  I  was  their  only  readur.  I  should  be  thinking 
of  my  contemporaries  and  saying, '  At  one  time  people  spoke  of 
mo  as  now  they  are  speaking  of  you.'  It  is  a  kind  of  sad  thing 
for  a  man  to  outlive  his  fame,  for  the  public  is  a  fickle-minded 
creature,  and  must  have  new  distractions ;  but  now  I  cannot 
compUin  of  being  forgotten,  for  I  never  did  anything  deserving 
of  being  remembered." 

"  Grandfather,"  said  Maisrie,  "  surely  it  is  unfair  of  you  to 
talk  like  thatl  Think  of  the  many  friends  you  have  made 
through  your  writings." 

"  Scotch  friends,  Maisrie,  Scotch  friends,"  lio  said.  "  I  admit 
that.  The  Scotch  are  not  among  the  forgetful  ones  of  the  earth. 
If  you  want  to  be  made  much  of,"  he  said,  turning  to  Mrs.  Elli- 
son, "  if  yon  want  to  be  regarded  with  a  constant  affection  and 
gratitude,  and  to  have  your  writings  remembered  and  repeated 
by  the  lassies  at  the  kirn,  by  the  ploughman  in  the  field,  by  gen- 
tlo  and  simple  alike,  then  you  must  contrive  to  be  bom  in  Scot- 
land. The  Scottish  heart  beats  warm,  and  is  constant.  If  there 
is  a  bit  of  heather  or  a  bluebell  placed  on  my  grave,  it  will  be 
by  the  hand  of  a  kindly  Scot." 

Dinner  over,  they  went  out  and  sat  in  the  cool  twilight,  and 
had  coffee  while  the  steward  was  clearing  away  within.  Mrs. 
Ellison,  faithful  to  her  promise  to  Lord  Musselburgh,  said  she 
had  n  )t  long  to  stay ;  but  her  nephew,  having  a  certain  scheme 
in  his  mind,  would  not  let  her  go  just  yet.  And  by-and-by, 
wlien  the  saloon  had  been  lit  up,  he  asked  her,  in  a  casnal  kind 
of  fashion,  whether  before  she  went  she  would  not  likj  to  hear 
Miss  Bethune  sing  something. 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things  1"  she  replied  instantly, 
with  a  reckless  disregard  of  truth. 

Maisrie  glanced  at  her  grandfather. 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  why  not  f"  said  he. 

"  Then,"  said  their  young  host.,  "  I  propose  we  go  into  the  sa- 
loon again ;  it  will  be  quieter ;"  for  there  was  still  a  plash  of  oars 
on  the  river,  and  an  echoing  call  of  voioes  in  the  meadows  beyond. 

When  they  had  returned  into  the  saloon,  Maisrie  took  up  her 
violin,  and  Mrs.  Ellison  bravely  endeavored  to  assome  an  air  of 
F 


• 


''. 


•^*-- 


las 


ITAVD  FAIT,  OBAIO-aOT*ro>  I 


ioterested  expectancy.  The  fact  was,  she  disliked  t'te  whole 
proceeding ;  hert  wonid  be  some  mere  exhibition  cf  a  aohool- 
girl'a  ahowy  aocompUahments ;  she  would  havo  to  sajr  nice 
things,  and  ahe  hated  telling  lies  when  nothing  was  to  be  gained. 
Maisrie  made  some  little  apology,  but  said  that  perhaps  Mrs. 
ElliBon  had  not  heard  the  "  Claire  Fontaine,"  which  is  a  favor- 
ite song  of  the  Canadians.  Then  she  drew  her  bow  across  the 
strings. 

Vincent  need  not  have  been  so  anxious.  Hardly  had  Maisrie 
begun  with 

"•llaohirafonUine 
M'en  allant  pronMoer,' " 

than  Mrs.  Ellison's  air  of  forced  attention  instantly  vanished ; 
she  seemed  surprised ;  she  listened  in  a  wondering  kind  of  way 
to  the  low,  dear  tones  of  the  girl's  voice,  that  were  so  curiously 
sincere  and  penetrating  and  simple.  Not  a  school-girl's  show- 
ing off  this^  but  a  kind  of  speech  that  reached  the  heart 

" '  Sur  la  ploa  haute  bnnofae 
La  roMignol  ohanUlt 
dunte,  rouignol,  ebante, 
Toi  qui  u  le  ooBor  gal. 

"  Lui  7  a  loDgtempa  qut  k  t'aiow, 
Jamaia  j«  ne  t'ouUierai'.' » 

Did  she  notice  the  soft  dwelling  on  the  r's  t  Vincent  asked  him- 
self ;  and  had  she  ever  heard  anything  so  strangely  fascinating! 
Then  the  simple  pathos  of  the  story — if  there  was  any  story : 

" '  Obante,  roMignoI,  ohante, 
Toi  qui  ai  le  ooor  gal ; 
Tu  aa  le  ccour  a  rire, 
Mot  j«  I'ai-t-a  plenrar. 

*"Tn  aileccBurarlre, 
MoijeTai-t-apIeanr: 
J'ai  perdu  ma  maltnsie 
Saai  I'a?  oir  mMti. 

"Lni  7  a  longterapa  que  je  t'aine, 
Jamaia  je  ne  t'oublierai.' " 

«That  is  enough,"  said  Maisrie,  with  a  smile,  and  ahe  laid 
the  violin  in  her  lap.  "  It  is  too  loi^.  Yon  never  hear  it  nmg 
altogether  in  Canada— only  a  verse  here  and  there— or  perhaps 
meraljr  the  refraia— >" 


■nawiMipiPNMMMipaiupMip 


1 


nAMD  VAIT,  OBAie-ftOT»rO>l 


lit 


iliked  V\9  whole 
tion  cf  »  sohool- 
atro  to  M7  aice 
WM  to  be  gained, 
kat  perhaps  Mrs. 
which  is  a  favor- 
ir  bow  across  the 

irdly  had  Maisrie 


Btantly  Taniahod; 
iring  kind  of  way 
were  so  ourioosly 
chool-girl's  show- 
the  heart 


klnw. 

incent  asked  him- 
igely  fascinating  t 
was  any  story : 


"  Bat  is  there  more  t  Oh,  please  sing  the  rest  of  it — it  is  d»> 
lightfnl — so  qnaint  and  simple  and  charming  t"  Mrs.  Ellison  ex- 
claimed ;  and  Master  Vin  was  a  prood  and  glad  yonng  man ;  ho 
knew  that  Maisrie  had,  all  nnaided,  stmok  home. 

The  girl  took  np  her  violin  again,  and  resumed : 

"' J'ai  perdu  ma  mattrMM 
Sans  Tavoir  mitiii, 
Pour  un  boaqnet  de  roiM 
Que  }e  lul  nfuaaL 

" '  Pour  un  bouquet  de  roeei 
Quo  Je  lul  rtfiiiaL 
Je  Toudratt  que  la  roee 
Fftt  encore  au  roaier. 

*' Je  Toodraia  que  la  roee 
Fftt  eneore  au  roaier, 
Bt  moi  et  ma  maltraiee 
Dana  lea  m4m*B  amittfi. 

"'Lul  7  a  kmgtempe  que  Je  Vaiam, 
Jamaia  Je  ne  t'onblierai."' 

Well,  when  the  singing,  if  it  could  be  called  singing,  was 
over,  Mrs.  Ellison  made  the  usual  little  compliments,  which  no- 
body minded  one  way  or  the  other.  But  presently  she  had  to 
leave ;  and  while  she  was  being  rowed  up  the  river  by  her  nephew 
Blie  was  silent.  When  they  reached  Uie  *'  Villeggiatara  "  (the 
people  were  all  outside,  amid  the  confn::^  light  of  the  lanterns 
in  the  dusk)  she  said  to  him,  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  bade  him 
good-bye: 

"Yin,  let  me  whisper  something  to  you — a  confession.  '  Claire 
Fontaine '  has  done  for  me.  That  girl  is  a  good  girl.  Skt  is  all 
right,  anyway." 


j 


•i 


iile,aDd  she  kid 
ever  hear  it  snog 
perhftps 


OHAPTBR  VnL 


Air  Auuuf; 


Ov  a  eertain  rtill,  dear,  moonlight  night  a  dog-iwrt  containing 
two  yonng  men  was  being  driven  away  from  the  little  town  of 
Mendover,  out  into  the  wide,  white,  silent  country.    The  driver 


194 


tTAim  rAwr,  OBAio-noTtrovi 


mm  Lord  Musselburgh,  sad  he  seemed  in  high  spirits,  talking 
to  his  companion  almost  continuously,  while  he  kept  the  stout 
little  cob  going  at  a  rattling  pace. 

"  I  am  more  pleased  than  I  can  tell  yon,"  he  was  saying. 
"  Quite  a  triumph !  Why,  you  took  to  it  as  a  duck  takes  to 
water.  Of  course  thcro'n  somothing  in  having  a  reHponsive  au- 
dience; and  you  can  always  get  a  noble  band  of  patriots  to 
cheer  your  proposal  for  a  pi>gressive  income-tax  when  not  one 
in  ton  of  them  has  any  income-tax  to  pay.  I'm  afraid  they 
weren't  quite  so  enthusiastic  about  your  scheme  of  compulsory 
insurance ;  indeed,  they  seemed  a  little  disappointed  and  of- 
fended. The  champion  of  the  proletariat  was  playing  it  a  little 
low  down  on  them,  but  a  heavily  increasing  income-tax —  Oh, 
yes,  that  was  splendid  I  They  saw  the  Rothschilds  caught  at 
last,  and  had  visions  of  a  land  in  which  there  shall  be  no  more 
poor-rates  or  police-rates,  perhaps  not  even  water-rates  or  gas- 
rates.  But  it  was  your  confounded  coolness  that  surprised  me 
— no  beating  about  the  bush,  walking  straight  into  it,  and  with- 
out preparation,  too — " 

*'  I  knew  what  I  had  to  say,"  Vincent  interposed,  with  a  be- 
coming modesty,  "  and  it  seemed  simple  enough  to  say  it" 

"  Yes,  and  so  it  is — when  you  have  acquired  the  knack  of 
forgetting  yourself,"  said  the  young  nobleman,  oracularly.  "  And 
that  appears  to  have  come  naturally  to  you,  my  boy.  However, 
this  is  why  I  am  so  particularly  pleased  with  your  successful 
first  appearance,"  Lord  Musselburgh  proceeded,  en  the  dog-cart 
went  bowling  along  the  silent  white  highway  between  the  black 
hedges.  "  I  am  about  to  unfold  to  you  a  great  idea,  Yin,  pei 
haps  prematurely,  but  you  will  be  discreet  The  project  is 
mine,  but  I  want  help  to  carry  it  through.  Tou  and  I  must 
work  together,  and  years  and  years  hence  we  shall  be  recognized 
as  the  Great  Twin  Brethren  who  saved  the  falling  fortunes  of 
England." 

Was  he  in  jest  or  earnest  f  Vincent,  knowing  his  friend's  sub- 
cynical  habit  of  speech,  listened  without  interposing  a  word. 

«  We  shall  earn  for  ourselves  a  deathless  renown  at  very  lit- 
tle cost — to  us ;  it's  the  other  people  who  will  have  to  pay,  and 
we  shall  have  all  the  glory.  Now,  what  I  propose  is  briefly 
this :  I  propose  to  give  all  those  good  folk  who  profess  a  warm 
r^;ard  for  their  native  coantry  a  chance  of  showing  what  their 


■TAWD   rAIT,  OUAIO-KOriTOVI 


IM 


spiriUi,  talking 
kepi>  tho  stoat 

he  WM  mying. 
1  duck  takes  to 
k  reaponsive  an- 
1  of  patriots  to 
X  when  not  one 
['ro  afraid  they 
9  of  compulsory 
pointed  and  of- 
ilaying  it  a  little 
omo-tax —    Oh, 
ihilds  caught  at 
ihall  be  no  more 
tcr-rates  or  gas- 
lat  surprised  me 
nto  it,  and  with- 

losed,  with  a  be- 

k  to  say  it" 

id  tho  knack  of 

acularly.   "And 

boy.    However, 

your  successful 

,  rs  the  dog-cart 

tween  the  black 

t  idea,  Yin,  pei 

The  project  is 

'ou  and  I  must 

i\  be  recognised 

ing  fortunes  of 

I  his  friend's  sub- 

[sing  a  irord. 

)own  at  very  lit- 

lave  to  pay,  and 

>pose  is  briefly 

profess  a  wwm 

sg  what  th«ir 


patriotism  is  worth.  I  don't  want  them  to  flght;  there  isn't 
any  fighting  going  on  at  present  to  speak  of,  and  in  any  case 
tho  rich  old  merchants,  and  maiden  ladies,  and  portly  bishops, 
nnd  ponderous  judges — well,  they'd  make  an  awkward  squad  to 
(iriil ;  but  I  moan  to  give  them  an  opportunity  of  testifying  to 
their  affection  for  the  land  of  their  birth ;  and  you,  my  biasing 
young  Tory-Democrat,  if  you  can  speak  as  freely  as  you  spoke 
to-night,  you  must  carry  the  fiery  torch  north,  south,  east,  and 
west,  till  you  have  secured  WoHtminstcr  Abbey  for  both  of  na, 
or  at  least  a  tablet  in  St.  Panrs.  Then  look  what  a  subject  for 
your  eloquence  you  have — the  guarding  of  England  from  any 
()uH8iblo  combination  of  her  foes,  the  island-citadel  made  im- 
pregnable, 'compasa'd  by  the  inviolate  sea,^  defence  not  defl- 
nnce — you  understand  the  kind  of  thing.  But  really,  Yin,  you 
know,  there  is  going  to  be  an  awful  *  stramash,'  as  my  old  nurse 
U8cd  to  say,  in  Europe  before  the  century  is  out ;  and  England'f 
safety  will  lie  in  her  being  strong  enough  to  remain  aloof.  And 
how  t     Why,  by  trebling  her  present  navy." 

*'  Trebling  her  present  navy  1"  Yincent  repeated,  in  a  vague 
sort  of  way, 

"  Yes,"  Musselburgh  wont  on,  coolly.  "  And  it  can  easily  be 
done  without  involving  a  single  farthing  of  taxation.  I  want 
the  people  of  this  country  to  show  what  thoy  can  do  volunta- 
rily ;  I  want  them  to  make  a  tremendous  effort  to  render  Great 
Britain  secure  from  attack  for  a  century  at  least,  and  the  man- 
ner of  doing  it  is  to  form  a  National  Patriotic  Fund,  to  which 
everybody,  man  and  woman,  merchant  and  apprentice,  million- 
aire and  club-waiter,  can  subscribe,  according  to  their  means 
and  the  genuineness  of  their  patriotism.  Here  is  a  chance  for 
everybody;  here  is  a  test  of  all  those  professions  of  love  of 
country.  Why,  it  would  become  a  point  of  honor  with  the  very 
meanest,  if  the  nation  were  thoroughly  aroused,  and  if  a  splen- 
did example  'X'ere  set  in  high  places.  The  queen,  now — who 
is  more  directly  interested  in  the  safety  of  the  country  than 
she  is? — why  should  she  not  head  the  list  with  £100,000?  I 
would  call  the  fund  the  Queen's  Fund,  and  I  should  not  wonder 
if  we  were  to  get  two  or  three  maniacs — very  useful  maniacs — 
patriots  they  would  hav^been  called  i.  other  days — to  cut  their 
possessions  in  half,  and  hand  the  one  half  bodily  over  to  hM 
majesty ;  that  would  be  something  like  an  example  I" 


;i 


lie 


MAVD   fAST,  OKAIO-BOTtrOMI 


"Bot  ii  it  all  •  wild  ■peoalation,  MaMelbarghr*  uked  Vin- 
cent, who  WM  puzslcd ;  "  or  do  you  mean  it  seriously  f 

"  lU  and  hum,"  said  tho  young  peer,  significantly.  "  That 
depends.  I  should  want  to  sound  some  of  the  dukes  about  it. 
And  first  of  all  I  must  hare  some  sort  of  scheme  ready,  to  get 
rid  of  obvious  objections.  They  might  say, '  Oh,  you  want  to 
treble  the  nsTyt  Then  in  twenty  years  you'll  find  yourself 
with  a  crowd  of  obsolete  ships,  and  all  your  monoy  gone.'  That 
is  not  what  I  mean  at  all.  I  mean  the  formation  of  an  immense 
voluntary  national  fund,  which  will  keep  the  nary  at  double  or 
treble  its  present  strength,  not  by  a  sudden  multiplication  of 
•hips,  but  by  gradually  adding  vessels  of  the  newest  construc- 
tion, aa  improvements  are  invented.  An  immense  fund,  doubt- 
less, for,  of  course,  there  would  be  maintenance;  but  what 
couldn't  a  rich  country  like  England  do  if  she  chose  t  And 
(hat's  what  I'm  coming  to,  with  regard  to  you,  my  youug  De- 
mosthenes. It  would  be  infinitely  better — it  would  be  safer — 
it  would  be  building  on  securer  foundations — if  tho  demand  for 
such  a  morement  came  from  the  country  itself.  If  the  queen 
and  the  d'  kos  and  tho  millionaires  were  to  subscribe  as  if  in 
answer  to  an  appeal  from  tho  people,  the  enthusiasnv  would  be 
tremendous ;  it  would  be  such  a  thing  as  nerer  happened  be- 
fore in  the  history  of  England.  Talk  about  noble  ladies  fling- 
ing their  jewels  into  tho  public  treasury  I — why,  every  school- 
girl would  bring  out  her  hoarded  pocket-money,  with  her  lips 
white  with  patriotic  ferror.  England  can  subscribe  on  all  pos- 
sible occasions  for  the  benefit  of  other  countries ;  for  once  let 
her  subscribe  on  her  own  behalf  I"  Lord  Musselburgh  went  on, 
though  it  might  have  been  hard  to  say  what  half-mocking  brava- 
do mingled  with  his  apparent  enthusiasm.  "  And  that's  where 
yon  would  como  in.  You  would  be  the  emissary,  the  apostle, 
the  bearer  of  the  fiery  torch.  You've  done  very  well  with  tho 
grocers'  assistants  of  Mendover ;  but  fancy  having  to  wake  up 
England,  Canada,  Australia,  and  the  Cape  to  the  necessity  for 
making  the  mother  country  once  for  all  invulnerable,  in  the  in- 
terests of  peace  and  universal  freedom !  Why,  I  could  become 
eloquent  about  it  myself  1  They  cheered  your  graduated  in- 
come-tax ;  but  what  would  they  say  to  this  f  Fancy  whi.t  could 
be  done  if  every  man  in  this  country  were  to  pledge  himself 
(o  give  s  year's  income  t    We  don't  ask  him  to  go  oat  sod 


gTA>D  FAST,  OBAIO-ROrnoV  I 


119 


br  Mked  Vin- 
ouily!" 

icantly.     "Thtt 
dukes  about  it. 
nc  reitdy,  to  get 
)h,  you  w»nt  to 
Mi  find  yoomlf 
k^y  gone.'    That 
a  of  an  immenao 
try  at  double  or 
nultiplication  of 
neweiV  conatnic- 
Dse  fund,  doubt- 
auce;  but  what 
he  chose  t    And 
1,  my  youug  Do- 
would  be  sj^er— 
f  the  demand  for 
If.     If  the  queon 
ubscribe  as  if  in 
usiasnw  would  be 
rer  happened  be- 
oble  ladies  fling- 
ly,  every  school- 
ly,  with  her  lips 
iribe  on  all  pos- 
lies ;  for  once  let 
slburgh  went  on, 
|f-mocking  brava- 
.nd  that's  where 
J,  the  apostle, 
iry  well  with  the 
Iving  to  wake  up 
;he  necessity  for 
lerable,  in  the  in- 
,  I  could  become 
ir  graduated  in- 
i'ancy  wha^i  could 
pledge  himself 
to  go  oat  and 


have  his  legs  or  his  anna  ampntated,  or  his  lioad  shot  off ;  we 
only  ask  for  a  year's  income — to  secure  peace  and  prosperity 
for  himself  and  his  childr«sn,  and  his  cbildron's  children.  If 
there  is  any  patriotism  in  the  country  at  all,  who  would  say 
'No?'  And  then,  when  there  is  an  iron  belt  round  England, 
Hud  when  there  is  a  floating  mass  of  iron  thai  could  b«  sent 
lit  any  moment  to  form  a  wall  round  any  of  her  dependencies, 
then,  J  suppose,  there  might  be  a  splendid  assembkgo  in  West- 
minster llall ;  and  you  and  I— as  the  instigators  of  this  great 
national  movement — but  my  imagination  stops  short;  I  don't 
know  what  they  will  make  of  us." 

lie  himself  had  to  stop  short,  for  he  was  passing  through  a 
wide  gateway  into  the  grounds  surrounding  the  liungalow,  and 
the  carriage-drive  was  almoiiit  invisible  under  the  overshadowing 
trees.  Presently  they  had  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  long,  low, 
rumbling  house ;  and  hero  wore  lit  windows  and  an  open  door 
und  servants.  The  two  young  men  descended  and  entered,  and 
went  into  the  billiard-room,  where  cigars  and  soda-water  and 
Rimilar  things  had  been  sot  out  in  readiness  for  them ;  and  here 
Lord  Musselbuigh,  lyi'  '  ba^k  in  a  cane-bottomed  chair,  pro- 
ceeded to  talk  in  a  I  >  random  fashion  about  this  project  of 
his,  until  he  had  almost  persuaded  his  companion  that  there 
was  something  reasonable  and  praotioable  in  it,  if  only  it  could 
be  properly  initiated.  Jflii  th" 

"  Anyhow,"  said  he  to  bbi  gnesi,  aa  tbey  were  both  retiring 
for  the  night,  "  it  is  some  big  movement  like  that,  Yin,  my  lad, 
that  you  want  to  get  identified  with,  if  your  aim  is  to  make  a 
position  in  English  public  life.  You  have  advantages;  you  can 
KI)cak  well;  you  will  have  plenty  of  money.  You  are  begin- 
ning with  the  proletariat — ^that  is  kying  a  foundation  of  popu- 
larity. You  have  youth  and  heaps  of  strength  on  your  side. 
Then  Grandison  is  known  to  be  your  friend.     What  more  t" 

What  more,  indeed !  The  future  seemed  to  smile  on  this 
young  man ;  and  if  his  dreams,  waking  or  sleeping,  had  been 
of  great  achievements  and  public  triumphs,  who  could  have 
wondered  t  But,  curiously  enough,  just  at  this  time  the  fore- 
casts that  came  to  him  in  moments  of  quiet  were  apt  to  be 
sombre.  He  dreaded  he  hardly  knew  what  And  these  vague 
forebodings  of  the  day  took  a  more  definite  shape  in  the  far- 
roaobing  Tiaions  of  the  night ;  for  again  and  again  there  recur- 


128 


STAITD   WAOrtf  CEAIO-ROTBTONI 


red  to  him  that  phantasmal  picture  that  had  snddenly  startled 
him  when  old  George  Bcthune  was  talking  of  the  pcssibilities 
that  might  be  in  store  for  his  granddaughter.  Yin  Harris  had 
never  seen  Balloray — did  not  know  where  it  was,  in  fact ;  but 
night  after  night  he  beheld  with  a  strange  distinctness  the  big 
baronial  building,  and  the  black  firs,  and  the  gate  with  the  ot- 
ter's head  in  stone.  Had  that  been  all!  But  as  regularly 
there  came  forth  the  tall  young  girl  with  the  long  flowing  hair ; 
and  be  was  a  poor  wanderer,  cowering  away  from  recognition ; 
and  again  she  would  ride  by,  along  the  white  road,  until  she 
was  lost  in  the  dappled  sun  and  shadow  under  the  beeches. 
Then  there  was  a  song  somewhere — perhaps  it  was  the  trem- 
bling leaves  that  whispered  the  refrain — but  it  was  all  about 
separation,  and  loneliness,  and  the  sadness  of  remembrance  and 
of  loss.  ''  Chante,  rossignol,  chante,  toi  qui  as  le  coeur  gai " — 
this  was  what  he  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear,  away  in  that  dis- 
tant land,  where  he  had  been  left  alone.  ...  "  J'ai  perdu  ma 
maitresse  sans  I'avoir  m6rit6." ...  It  was  strange  that  no  birds 
sang  in  these  woods,  that  no  lark  hung  quivering  in  those  skies; 
all  was  silence — save  for  that  continuous  murmur  of  farewell. 
...  "  Lui  y  a  longtemps  que  je  t'aime,  jamais  je  ne  t'oublie- 
rai."  And  sometimes  the  murmur  rose  into  a  larger  monotone ; 
i!tn  big  gray  building  and  the  black  firs  and  the  highway  and 
the  beeches  disappeared ;  and  heboid  in  their  stead  was  a  great 
breadth  of  sea,  desolate  and  rain-swept,  and  void  of  all  sign  of 
life.  And  was  this  the  barrier  now  between  him  and  her  ?  Not 
merely  that  she  was  the  heiress  of  Balloray,  under  the  guardi- 
anship of  her  implacably  proud  old  grandfather,  but  that  she 
was  away  in  some  far  land,  beyond  those  never-ending  myriad 
voices  of  the  deep  ? .  .  .  "  Pour  nn  bouquet  de  roses,  que  je  lui 
refusal."  .  .  .  What  wrong  had  he  done  her !  What  had  he 
denied  her,  in  the  time  when  they  were  as  boy  and  girl  together 
— when  there  was  no  thought  of  her  being  the  heiress  of  Ballo- 
ray— ^when  she  used  to  walk  down  through  Ilyde  Park,  in  her 
simple  dress,  and  sit  on  the  bench,  while  her  grandfather  read 
his  newspaper?  Then  the  gray  dawn  would  come;  and  he 
would  awake  to  the  knowledge  that  he  had  been  tortured  by 
mere  fantasies ;  and  yet  these  left  something  in  his  mind,  even 
during  t£e  actual  and  practical  daylight  hours.  He  began  to 
wish  that  there  was  some  bond — of  what  nature  he  had  n<A  de- 


nfm 


Hm^iliiliM' iwri 


luddenly  startled 
the  pcBsibilities 
Yin  Harris  had 
vas,  in  fact ;  but 
binrtness  the  big 
rate  with  the  ot- 
3ut  as  regularly 
>ng  flowing  hair ; 
rom  recognition; 
e  road,  until  she 
der  the  beeches, 
it  was  the  trem- 
it  was  all  about 
emembrance  and 
i  le  coeur  gai " — 
iway  in  that  dis- 
"  J'ai  perdu  ma 
nge  that  no  birds 
ig  in  those  skies ; 
■niur  of  farewell, 
is  je  no  t'oublie- 
arger  monotone ; 
the  highway  and 
itead  was  a  great 
aid  of  all  sign  of 
m  and  her  ?    Not 
inder  the  guardi- 
ler,  but  that  she 
sr-ending  myriad 
roses,  que  je  lui 
What  had  he 
and  girl  together 
leiress  of  Ballo- 
yde  Park,  in  her 
grandfather  read 
come;  and  he 
)een  tortured  by 
n  his  mind,  even 
He  be£^  to 
■e  ho  had  tuA  de- 


STAND   rAST,  CRAtO-ROTSTOlT  I 


199 


termined,  for  it  was  all  a  vague  longing  and  wistful  desire^ 
that  could  so  bind  Maisrio  and  him  together  that  that  great 
width  of  sea  should  not  intervene.  For  it  was  a  sorrowful  kind 
of  thing — oven  when  the  white  hours  of  the  daylight  told  him 
that  he  had  only  seen  it  in  a  dream. 

But  apart  from  all  these  dim  anxieties  and  this  haunting  un- 
rest came  the  strictly  matter-of-fact  consideration  that  within 
an  appreciable  time  old  George  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter 
would  be  returning  to  the  United  States.  That  was  no  spectral 
ocean  that  would  then  lie  between  Maisrie  and  him,  out  three 
thousand  miles  of  the  Atlantic ;  and  who  could  tell  when  the 
two  wanderers  might  ever  see  England  again !  Nay,  had  he 
not  himself  been  implored  to  help  in  bringing  about  this  sepa- 
ration !  Mai^ne  had  begged  of  him  to  urge  upon  her  grand- 
father the  Tiecessity  of  getting  the  Am>)rican  book  done  first, 
before  setting  out  on  the  poetic  pi]griDr>  <ige  through  Scotland, 
which  was  to  yield  fruit  of  another  kinu  ■  and,  of  course,  if  tho 
old  man  consented,  the  first  step  to  be  taken  was  a  voyage  to 
New  York.  Vincent  had  drawn  many  a  fancy  picture  of  a  lit- 
tle group  of  three,  wandering  away  through  the  rich-hued  au- 
tumn days,  by  "  lone  St  Mary's  silent  lake,"  or  by  the  banks  of 
the  silver  Tweed ;  but  now  all  that  was  to  be  sacrificed,  and  he 
himself  was  to  do  what  he  could  towards  sending  the  old  man 
back  to  America,  and  Maisrie  with  him.  Then  there  would  be 
no  more  of  the  long  quiet  days  of  study,  made  happy  by  antic- 
ipations of  the  evening ;  no  more  of  the  pleasant  little  dinners 
in  this  or  that  restaurant ;  no  more  of  those  wonderful  twilights 
iu  the  little  parlcr,  with  their  enchantments  of  music  and  happy 
converse.  London,  with  Maisrie  Bethune  three  thousand  miles 
away ;  that  would  be  a  strange  thing  that  he  could  even  now 
hardly  imagine  to  himself. 

Nay,  it  was  a  thing  that  he  looked  forward  to  with  such  an 
unreasoning  dread  and  dismay  that  he  began  to  construct  all 
sorts  of  mad  schemes  for  defeating  any  such  possibility ;  and 
at  last  he  hit  upon  one  that  seemed  more  or  less  practicable, 
while  it  would  in  the  meantime  virtually  absolve  him  from  his 
promise  to  Maisrie.  On  the  morning  after  the  meeting  of  the 
Mendover  Liberal  Association,  the  two  young  men  were  return- 
ing to  town  by  train ;  and  Vincent  said  to  bis  companion : 

MToa  were  telling  me  the  other  night  of  the  Scotch  news- 
ir-  9 


5 


I 


ISO 


BTAHD   rAST,  CBAIO-BOTSTOirl 


paper-nun  whom  yon  got  to  know  in  New  York.  What  did 
you  say  his  name  wau  f" 

"Oh,  you  mean  Hugh  Anstrnthcrt  I  hope  I  fspoke  no  ill  of 
hi  >i :  for  an  enthnsiastic  patriotism  such  as  his  is  really  some- 
thing to'  admire  in  these  days.  A  capital  fellow,  Hugh ;  antil 
I  fell  acrosp  him  in  New  York  I  did  not  know  that  1  had  one 
virtae  transcending  all  the  other  virtues,  and  that  was  simply 
my  being  a  brother  Scot" 

"What  did  you  say  was  the  name  of  the  paper  that  he 
editar 

"The  Wettem  SeoUman:' 

"  And  it  was  he  who  gave  Mr.  Bethune  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  yon  f         5«^C'Sf'  .;*ir;iSy: 

But  here  Lorvl  MaaselburgVs  nuuiner  instantly  changed ;  he 
had  been  answering  these  questions  in  a  ORfoIess  way,  looking  out 
of  *h.t  carriage-window  most  of  the  time ;  nou  he  turned  to  his 
companion,  and  regarded  him  with  some  scrutiny. 

"Why  do  you  ask,  Vinf  he  said.  "Do  you  want  to  find 
out  something  further  about  the  old  man  f 

Vincent's  forehead  flushed,  and  his  eyes  gloomed  dark. 

<=I  do  not,"  he  made  answer  in  distinct  tones.  "I  thank 
goodness  my  nature  is  not  so  suspicious.  It  seems  to  me  ex- 
traordinary that  two  human  bcdngs,  who  have  done  nothing  in 
the  world  to  des^irve  it,  should  be  K«garded  by  a  constant  mis- 
trust and  doubt.  Why?  Do  you  suspect  everybody  else  in 
the  same  way  t" 

"Oh,  don't  say  that  I  suspect  them  I"  Lord  Musselburgh  ex- 
claimed at  once — for  he  was  an  exceedingly  good-natured  young 
man,  and  had  no  wish  to  offend.  "  I  don't  know  them  well 
enough — don't  know  anything  at  all  about  them,  in  fact." 

"  You  told  me  yourself  that  my  aunt  and  you  had  been  talk- 
ing them  over ;  and  I  gathered  enough  from  what  you  said," 
was  the  younger  man's  retort 

"  Mrs.  Ellison  is  naturally  anxious  about  anything  that  con- 
cerns your  future,  Yin — or  seems  likely  to  concern  it,"  Lord 
Musselburgh  said.     "  And  you  should  be  the  last  to  object" 

"  But  I  do  object,"  he  said,  stiffly.  "  I  object  altogether  to 
her  canvassing  the  character  of  any  friends  of  mine,  and  to  her 
putting  her  doubts  and  juspicions  and  hints  about  them  into 
any  third  person's  imagination.   Oh,  yes,  I  coold  make  oat  quite 


mmm 


STAND  VAST,  ORAIChROTSTOH  I 


181 


Mk.     What  did 

'.  Fpoke  no  ill  of 
i  is  really  somc- 
>w,  Hugh ;  until 
I  that  1  had  one 
that  was  simply 

)  paper  that  he 


tter  of  introdnc- 

tiy  changed;  he 

way,  looking  on^ 

he  tamed  to  his 

ny. 

you  want  to  find 

lined  dark, 
ones.  "I  thank 
seems  to  me  ex- 
done  nothing  in 
a  constant  mis- 
erybody  else  in 

Musselburgh  ex- 
-natured  young 
[now  them  well 
I,  in  fact" 
[u  had  been  talk- 
jwhat  you  said  " 

/thing  that  con- 
oncem  it,"  Lord 
Bt  to  object" 
ect  altogether  to 
|mine,  and  to  her 
out  them  into 
i  make  ont  quite 


clearly  what  she  had  been  saying.  That  night  at  Henley  she 
came  on  a  visit  of  inspection ;  it  was  perfectly  obvious.  And 
what  is  more,  she  came  with  the  hope  of  having  her  suspicions 
confirmed;  and  I  suppose  she  was  horribly  disappointed  that 
Maisrie  Bethune  did  not  drop  her  A's,  and  that  Mr.  Bethune  did 
not  beg  the  loan  of  a  sovereign  from  her  1" 

"  Why  so  passionate,  Yin — why  so  indignant  f '  said  his  com- 
panion, glancing  at  him  curiously. 

<<  Because  I  say  it  is  a  shame— a  monstrous  shame,."  the  young 
man  said,  with  flaming  eyes,  "  that  any  one  should  be  insulted 
Is  it  their  fault  that  they  have  no  friends,  thai  tltey  are 


so 


unknown,  that  they  are  poor!  To  be  wealthy  is  to  be  virtuous, 
of  course ;  if  you  have  a  long  balance  at  your  bankers'  yon  are 
above  suspicion  then ;  if  you  have  house-boats  and  four-in-hands 
and  gold-plate,  you're  all  right  I  suppose,"  said  he,  altering 
his  tone, "  that  it  was  on  that  very  evening — the  evening  of  her 
inspection — ^that  my  aunt  was  kind  enough  to  talk  over  those 
two  friends  of  mine  with  you,  and  tell  you  of  all  the  Dortentous 
things  she  suspected  of  them.  But  I  presume  she  aid  not  re- 
peat to  you  the  very  last  words  she  used  to  me  as  she  said 
good-night  I" 

"About  what r 

"  About  Miss  Bethune,"  said  Vincent,  though  it  cost  him  an 
indescribable  ettori  U>  pronounce  her  name. 

"  Well,  I  believe  she  did,"  Lord  Musselburgh  admitted.  '*  For 
she  had  just  come  away  from  hearing  Miss  Bethune  sing  some 
Canadian  song  or  another,  and  she  was  very  much  struck,  and 
she  said  she  had  confessed  as  much  to  you.  Oh,  more  than 
that !  but  I  don't  precisely  rehiember  the  words.  But  really, 
Yin,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  yon  must  confess  that  there 
is  not  much  guidance  as  to  character,  or  antecedents,  or  any- 
thing else,  in  the  mere  singing  of  a  song.  Mrs.  Ellison,  who  is 
always  posing  as  a  callous  woman  of  the  world,  is  reidly  very 
sympathetic  and  generous  and  warm-hearted,  and  she  was  quite 
taken  captive  by  the  charm  and  simplicity  of  this  "  Claire  Fon- 
taine"—is  that  the  name  of  it  I — but  at  the  same  time  I  should 
not  place  too  great  a  value — " 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  the  younger  man  said,  interrupting 
without  apology.  "  I  place  nc  more  value  on  my  aunt's  acquit- 
tal and  commendation  than  on  her  previous  suspicions,    And — 


"3'%^.. 


himmuy 


tiiniiiiii">liili 


m 


132 


BTANO   FA8T,  ORAIO-ROTSTOH I 


and — if  you  don't  mind,  Musselborgh,  I  would  rather  rot  have 
the  question  discussed  further,  nor  Miss  Bethune's  name  men- 
tioned in  any  way  whatsoever." 

'*  Oh,  but  remember  I  said  nothing  against  her,"  Lord  Mussel- 
burgh finally  added,  in  perfect  good-humor.  "  How  could  I  ? 
I  hope  your  new  friends  are  all  you  think  them ;  and  as  for  the 
young  lady,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  any  harm  of  so  refined  and 
sweet  a  face.  But  I  hope  you  won't  concern  yourself  too  much 
with  them, .Yin;  you  have  other,  and  perhaps  more  serious,  in- 
tei^sts  in  life,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  everything  promises 
well  for  you.  Why,  at  this  moment,  man,  don't  ydb  know  what 
ought  to  be  occupying  all  your  abtention !" 

"  What  ?"  his  companion  asked,  perhaps  glad  enough  to  get 
away  from  that  delicate  topic 

"  At  least  I  know  what  I  should  be  thinking  of  if  I  were  in 
your  shoes,  I  should  bo  wonderirg  how  much  space  the  editor 
of  the  Mendover  Weekly  Ouardian  was  going  to  give  me  on 
Saturday  gioming  next." 

It  was  another  editor  whom  Vincent  had  in  his  mind  at  that 
moment  As  soon  as  lie  got  back  to  Loudon  ^e  wrote  and  de- 
spatched the  f ollowin;^  letter,  which  was  addressed  to  "  Hugh 
Anstruther,  Esq.,  Western  Scotsman  Office,  New  York,  U.S.A. :" 

"DiAR  Sib, — I  hope  you  will  be  80  kind  as  to  consider  the  contents  ol 
this  note  as  strictly  private  and  confidential.  In  a  recent  conversation  with 
Lord  Musselburgh  he  informed  me  that  it  was  you  who  had  given  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  iiim  to  Mr.  George  Bethune ;  and  from  Mr.  Bethune  him- 
self I  learn  that  he,  Mr.  Betbune,  is  about  to  bring  out  a  volume  on  the 
Scottiiih  poets  in  America  as  soon  as  he  can  conveniently  get  the  materials 
together.  But  to  this  end  it  would  appear  that  he  must  revisit  the  United 
Slates  anJ  Canada  to  obtain  particulars  of  the  lives  of  the  various  poets  and 
verse-writeis,  and  perhaps,  also,  examples  of  their  work.  Now,  I  wish  to  ask 
you,  as  a  friend  of  Mr.  Bethunts's,  whether  all  this  fatigue  and  travel  might 
not  be  spared  him,  supposing  there  were  some  person  or  pei'ons  in  this 
country  willing  to  defray  the  cost  of  having  those  materials  collected  for  him. 
To  speak  plainly,  do  you,  sir,  know  of  any  writer,  connected  with  the  press  or 
otherwise,  who  would  undertake,  for  a  sufficient  conBideration,',to  bring  togeth- 
er biographical  memoranda  of  the  authors  in  question,  along  with  specimens 
of  their  work,  which  could  be  sent  over  here  to  Mr.  Bethune,  for  him  to  put 
into  shape  and  issue  in  book  form  1  Mr.  Bethune,  as  you  know,  is  an  old 
man,  who  must  surely  have  had  enough  of  tntYrelling;  moreover,  he  has  in 
mind  a  leisur«ly  ramble  through  So>>tland,  which,  while  also  leading  to  liter- 
ary reaults,  would  involve  much  letM  fatigue  than  a  voyage  to  ui«  United 
States  and  Canada.   I  should  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  would  tell  me  whether 


STAND   FABT,  OBAia-ROTSTON ! 


189 


rather  rot  have 
ne's  name  men- 

r,"  Lord  MubsoI- 
"How  couW  I? 
;  and  as  for  the 
f  so  refined  and 
mrself  too  much 
nore  serioos,  in- 
jrthing  promises 
,  y&a.  know  vhat 

d  enough  to  get 

J  of  if  I  were  in 
space  the  editor 
ig  to  give  me  on 

his  mind  at  that 
he  wrote  and  de- 
pfcssed  to  "  Hugh 
»  York,U.S.A.:" 

der  the  contenti  o! 
at  converution  with 
had  given  a  letter 
m  Mr.  Bethune  hiin- 
ut  a  volume  on  the 
tly  get  the  materialB 
revisit  the  United 
lie  various  poets  and 
Now,  I  wish  to  ask 
ue  and  travel  miglit 
or  perons  in  this 
lis  collected  for  him. 
ed  with  the  press  or 
tion,'.to  bring  togeth- 
long  with  specimeoB 
huno,  tor  him  to  put 
you  know,  is  an  old 
moreover,  he  has  in 
also  leading  to  liter- 
>yage  to  ui6  United 
ould  tell  me  whether 


you  consider  it  practicable  to  collect  those  materials  by  deputy ;  also,  if 
you  Icnow  of  any  one  capable  of  undertaking  the  task,  and  wimt  remunera- 
tion he  would  probably  require.  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me — a  stranger — for 
thus  appealing  to  you ;  but  I  know  you  will  not  grudge  a  little  trouble  for 
the  sake  of  a  friend  and  a  fellow-Scotchman. 

.  **  Yours  faithfully  and  obediently, 

"  ViNc«MT  Harem." 

After  sending  off  that  letter  the  young  man's  spirits  lightened 
considerably ;  he  saw  there  was  still  a  chance  that  Maisrie  Bo- 
thnne,  her  grandfather,  and  himself  should  together  set  out  on 
that  coveted  perambulation  of  the  legend-haunted  districts  of 
the  North.  And  now  he  and  they  Lad  returned  to  their  ordi* 
nary  mode  of  life,  which,  perhaps,  pleased  him  better  than  the 
ostentatious  festivities  of  Henley.  Here  was  no  staring  crowd ; 
here  were  no  suspicious  friends  to  break  in  npon  their  close 
and  constant  companionship.  He  rejoiced  in  this  isolation ;  he 
wished  for  no  fourth  person  at  the  quiet  little  dinners  in  the 
restaurants;  he  had  no  desire  that  any  one  should  share  the 
privacy  of  the  hnshed  small  parlor  where  old  George  Bethune 
loftily  discoursed  of  poetry  and  philosophy,  of  ancient  customs 
and  modern  manners,  and  where  Maisrie  played  pathetic  Scotch 
airs  on  the  violin,  or  sang  in  her  low,  clear  voice  of  "  Le  Pont 
d' Avignon,"  or  perhaps  of  "  Marianson  Dame  Jolie."  More- 
over he  could  not  fail  to  perceive,  and  that  with  an  ever-increas- 
ing delight,  that  her  old  expression  of  sad  and  wistful  resigna- 
tion was  gradually  being  banished  from  her  eyes ;  and  not  ov\y 
that,  but  a  quite  fresh  color  was  come  into  lier  cheeks,  so  that 
the  pale  sun-tinge  was  less  perceptible.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
companionship  of  one  nearer  to  her  own  age  that  had  made  a 
difference  in  her  life  ;  at  all  events,  much  of  her  former  shyness 
was  gone.  She  met  his  look  frankly,  sometimes  with  a  touch 
of  gratitude,  sometimes  with  simple  gladness,  as  if  his  mere 
presence  was  something  that  pleased  her.  When  she  was 
watering  the  flowers  in  tho  little  balcony,  and  caught  sight 
of  him  over  the  way,  she  nodded  and  smiled ;  he  wondered 
whether  it  was  that  faint  sun-tinge  of  the  complexion  that  made 
her  teeth  seem  so  clearly  white.  He  began  to  forget  those 
dreams  of  a  wide  intervening  sea;  this  present  existence 
was  so  peaceable  and  contented  and  happy.  And,  in  spite 
of   Maisrie's  injunction,  those    dreams    of    Scotland    would 


184 


BTAIID   FAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTON  I 


recur.  He  saw  three  newly -arrived  strangers  walkirg  along 
Princes  Street,  Edinburgh,  in  the  silrer  glare  of  ;he  morn- 
ing; and  the  middle  one  of  the  three,  looking  away  op  to 
the  dusky  shadows  of  the  Castle  rock,  was  no  other  than 
Maisrie  Bcthane  herself,  with  light  and  gladness  shining  in  her 
eyes. 

And  what  had  old  George  Bethune  to  say  to  this  constant 
association  and  this  fast  friendship  between  the  two  young 
people  t  Well,  old  George  Bethune  had  an  admirable  capacity 
for  enjoying  the  present  moment;  and  so  long  as  the  dinner 
was  fairly  cooked  and  the  claret  to  his  taste,  so  long  as  he  had 
a  small  and  faithful  audience  to  listen  to  his  rhapsodies  about 
Scottish  song  and  Scottish  heroism,  and  so  long  as  Maisrie's 
violin  was  in  tune  and  her  hand  as  sensitive  as  ever  on  the 
trembling  strings,  he  did  not  seem  to  pay  much  heed  to  the 
future.  Perhaps  it  was  but  natural  that  one  who  had  wandered 
so  far  and  wide  should  welcome  a  little  peace  at  last ;  and  per- 
haps he  intentionally  blinded  his  eyes ;  at  all  events  the  young 
people  were  allowed  the  utmost  freedom  of  companionship — it 
was  as  if  these  three  formed  but  one  family. 

One  night,  as  Vincent  was  about  to  leave,  the  old  gentleman 
said  to  him, 

"About  to-morrow  evening:  I  presume  we  dine  at  Menta- 
▼isti'sr 

*'  Oh,  yes,  certainly ;  we've  tried  a  good  many  places,  and  we 
can't  do  better  than  Mentavisti's,"  the  young  man  answered,  as 
if  it  mattered  one  brass  farthing  to  him  what  sort  of  dinner 
there  was  or  where  he  got  it  so  long  as  Maisrie  was  at  the  same 
table  I 

"Ah,  very  well.  For  this  is  how  I  am  situated,"  said 
Mr.  Bethune,  gravely  and  grandly,  as  befitted  the  seriousness 
of  the  theme.  "  I  have  an  appointment  in  Jermyn  Street 
at  six  o'clock.  I  may  be  detained.  Now  I  can  undertake  to 
be  at  Mentavisti's  restaurant  at  seven — and  when  the  din- 
ner-hour is  once  fixed,  to  play  shilly-shally  with  it  seems 
to  me  abominable — but  I  am  not  so  sure  that  I  shall  have 
time  to  return  home  firsw  It  will  be  better,  therefore,  and 
every  way  safer,  for  Maisrie  to  come  down  by  herself  in  a 
cab—" 

"But  mayn't  I  call  for  herf  the  young  man  soggested  at 


MWMMMMIHMHW 


■TAMD   VABT,  ORAIO-BOfSTOH  I 


18S 


I  walkirg  along 
0  of  -.he  morn- 
ng  away  op  to 
no  other  than 
a  shining  in  her 

to  this  constant 
the  two  young 
mirable  capacity 
g  as  the  dinner 
o  long  as  he  had 
■hapsodies  about 
ong  as  Maisrie's 
as  ever  on  the 
uch  heed  to  the 
bo  hau  wandered 
at  last ;  and  per- 
Bvents  the  young 
>mp&nion8hip — it 

he  old  gentleman 

)  dine  at  Menta- 

ly  places,  and  we 
nan  answered,  as 
it  sort  of  dinner 
I  was  at  the  same 

i  situated,"  said 
the  seriousness 
Jermyn  Street 
lean  undertake  to 
when  the  din* 
with  it  seems 
at  I  shall, have 
ir,  therefore,  and 
by  herself  in  a 

lian  suggested  at 


once.  "  Ton  know  she  would  muob  rather  walk  down  than 
drive." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  very  well,  if  you  don't  mind,"  said  Mr.  Be- 
thune  with  a  lofty  condescension — or  indifference ;  while  Maisrie, 
inste&d  of  being  in  the  least  confused  by  this  proposal,  looked 
up  with  perfectly  frank  and  pleased  eyes,  apparently  giving  him 
a  little  message  of  thanks. 

Nor  was  she  in  the  least  embarrassed  on  the  following  even- 
ing when  he  was  ushered  up-stairs  by  the  landlady's  daughter. 
Maisrie  was  alone  in  the  littk  parlor,  ready  dressed,  except  as 
regarded  her  gloves,  and  she  was  putting  a  final  touch  to  the 
few  flowers  with  which  she  had  adorned  the  table. 

"  Good-evening,"  said  she,  quite  placidly.  "  I  will  be  with 
you  in  a  moment,  as  soon  as  I  have  dried  my  fingers." 

She  disappeared  for  a  second,  and  returned.  He  hesitated 
before  accoinpanying  her  to  the  door. 

"  Won't  you  give  me  one  §f  those  fiowera  f  said  he,  rather 
breathlessly. 

She  seemed  a  little  surprised. 

"  Now  that  I  think  of  it,"  she  said,  "  I  have  never  seen  yon 
wear  a  flower  in  your  coat,  as  other  gentlemen  do.  And  I'm 
afraid  there  isn't  one  here  nearly  fine  enough — " 

"  If  you  were  to  give  me  a  flower  I  should  not  destroy  it  by 
wearing  it  in  my  coat,''  said  he. 

"Oh,  merely  a  flower!"  she  asked.  She  went  to  the  tabl& 
"Will  this  one  do!" 

It  was  a  white  geranium  that  she  handed  to  him,  simply 
enough.  He  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and  carefully  placed  it 
between  the  leaves.  For  the  briefest  instant  she  regarded  him 
ti'i  if  in  wonder  that  he  should  seek  to  preserve  so  worthless  » 
trifle.  But  she  made  no  remark,  and  then  unconcernedly  and 
cheerfully  she  led  the  way  down-stairs,  and  together  they  passed 
out  into  the  open  street 

It  was  a  marvellous  and  bewildering  thing  to  think  that  he 
should  be  in  sole  and  complete  charge  of  her,  here  in  the  midst 
of  the  great  and  busy  worid  of  Loudon.  Did  these  hurrying 
people  guess  at  his  proud  elation,  his  new-found  sense  of  guar- 
dianship and  responsibility,  his  anxiety  that  all  things  should 
be  pleasant  to  her  t  or  had  they  hardly  time  even  to  notice  this 
beautiful  young  creature,  her  step  light  as  a  fawn,  fresh  color  in 


>--  '■^^. 


130 


8TAKD    FAST,  CRAIO-ROTBTONI 


her  fair  cheeks,  happiness  radiant  in  licr  eyes!  Perhaps  they 
heeded  her  and  the  tall  p.nd  handsome  youth  by  her  side  as  lit- 
tle as  she  heeded  theni ;  for  indeed  she  seemed  to  be  entirely 
engrossed  in  her  compenion,  talking,  smiling,  replying  to  him 
without  a  shadow  of  self-consciousness  or  restraint.  To  him 
this  new  relationship  was  an  amazing  kind  of  thing;  she  did 
not  seem  even  to  perceive  it.  To  him  it  was  an  epoch  in  his 
life,  to  be  forever  remembered ;  to  her — well,  nearly  every  even- 
ing she  walked  out  in  similar  fashion  with  her  grandfather,  and 
she  did  not  appcxr  to  notice  any  diffccnce ;  at  least  she  showed 
no  sign. 

But  a!'  at  once  Maisrie  altered  her  manner;  aad  that  was 
when  he,  in  the  lightness  of  h^s  heart,  informed  her  that  there 
was  still  a  chance  of  their  setting  out  on  that  long-contemplated 
pilgrimage  to  the  various  poetic  shrines  cf  Scotland. 

"Mr.  Harris,"  she  said,  proudly,  "you  made  mo  a  prom- 
is(j— "  • 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  did,"  he  said ;  "  but  things  have  changed, 
>ind  IVi  going  to  explain  to  you,  and  I  think  you'll  find  every- 
thing satisfactory.  But  first  of  »\11,  before  I  begin,  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  call  mo  •  Mr.  Harris.'  It  sounds  detestable.  You  who 
are  so  natural  and  straightforward  in  all  yonr  ways — why  don't 
you  call  me  '  Vincent }' " 

"Don't  you  think  that  'Mr.  Vincent'  might  be  a  fair  com- 
promise !"  she  asked,  gently,  and  with  her  eyes  lowered. 

"  I've  called  you  '  Maisrie '  once  or  twice,  by  accident,  and 
yon  didn't  seem  to  mind,"  he  pointed  out 

« I  am  sure  I  did  not  notice,"  she  made  answer  at  once. 
" How  should  If    I  am  used  to  nothing  else." 

"  Then  I  am  to  be  allowed  to  call  you  '  Maisrie,' "  said  he, 
clutching  eagerly  at  this  new-found  privilege.  "  And  you  will 
call  me  '  Vincent ' — when  you  find  '  Mi .  Vincent '  become  too 
formal.     Is  it  a  compact  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  '  Mr.  Vincent,'  if  yon  like,"  said  she,  with  a  smile. 
"  B  it.  why  do  you  make  "t  so  very  serious  <" 

'■  Because,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  when  any  solemn  bargain  in 
co'npleted  people  shake  hcnds  to  make  '    secure." 

"  Not  in  the  mid*>'o  of  Oxforrt  St' .it  ?''  sha  <;;  "d. 

*'We  will  postpone  'he  ceremony,  if  you  prefer  it;  and 
now  I  will  begin  and  tell  you  how  it  is  atiil  possible  we  may 


I 


iimi»t«iiMii»iii»mi  iM  will 


I  Perhaps  tlioy 
y  her  Hide  as  lit- 
3d  to  be  entirely 
replying  to  hini 
ittraint.  To  him 
f  thing;  she  did 
an  epoch  in  Iiis 
early  every  even- 
grandfathor,  and 
least  she  showed 

ir;  and  that  was 

cd  her  that  there 

ong-contcinplated 

Hand. 

ado  mo  a  prom- 

^  have  changed, 
you'll  find  overy- 
>egin,  I  wish  you 
stable.  You  who 
ways — why  don't 

it  be  a  fair  com- 

lowcred. 
I  by  accident,  and 

answer  at  once. 

[aisrie,' "  said  he, 
"  And  you  will 
mt '  become  too 

Ihe,  with  a  smile. 

Ilumn  bargain  is 
le." 

k'd. 
prefer  it;   and 

[)ossible  we  may 


f'i 

^, 

« 

1 1 

''fV 

/''■JfrnKm^ 

'  1 

a 

s 

• 

■•1 
1 

■  -  "If 

\ 

.  m 

11   ' 

If' 

1 

r 

1 

.           *                                            ■       F                                               /      i           ■ 
*                           *                   / 

.,   ,  ■..■■Mr 


m 


STAND    rXST,  ORAia-ROrSTOWt 


187 


liavo  that  long  rambiu  through  Scotland  together.  You  were 
niixiouB  that,  before  anything  of  the  kind  were  attonipted,  your 
(rrandfathor  should  go  back  to  the  United  Btates  to  get  ma- 
terials for  his  book  on  the  Scottish  poets  in  America.  Well, 
now,  it  seems  a  pity  to  make  such  a  long  voyage  if  it  can 
bo  done  without;  and  so  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  sending 
over  to  New  York  to  see  if  there  isn't  some  handy  young 
fellow  there — some  clerk  or  reporter — who  would  undertake 
to  collect  all  the  necessary  materials,  and  send  them  over 
hero  for  your  grandfather  to  work  up.  Then  we  could  go 
to  Scotland  all  the  same — that  is,  if  you  will  let  me  accompanjr 
you." 

**  Some  one  to  collect  materials  and  send  them  over  f '  she  re- 
peated ;  and  then  she  said,  "  But  would  that  be  fair,  Mr.  Harris 
— Mr.  Vincent — would  that  be  honest  t  Surely  not  I  The  book 
would  not  be  my  grandfather's  book  at  all ;  properly  it  would 
belong  to  the  young  roan  in  New  York." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  be,  with  decision.  "  He  only  sup- 
plies the  brick ;  he  does  not  build  the  house.  "When  a  chan- 
ccllor  of  the  exchequer  produces  his  Budget,  of  course  he  claims 
it  as  his  own ;  but  he  has  got  his  facts  from  the  heads  of  de- 
partments, and  most  likely  his  quotations  have  been  hunted  out 
for  liim  by  his  private  secretaxy.  It  would  be  year  grandfather's 
book  solely  and  wholly." 

"But  the  cost?"  she  said,  after  a  second.  "Supposing  it 
were  practicable,  the  expense — " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  that,"  said  he,  lightly.  "  It  will  be 
next  to  nothing — you  needn't  mind  about  that.  Our  deputy  in 
Now  York  will  find  very  little  difficulty  in  getting  the  memo- 
randa that  he  wants.  There  is  no  sort  of  unnecessary  modesty 
about  minor  poets ;  they  will  be  glad  enough  to  give  him  spec- 
imens of  their  work  as  soon  as  it  is  known  what  he  aims  at. 
And  in  Scotland,"  ho  continued  (grown  suddenly  bold),  "don't 
you  see  how  it  would  work  t  Your  grandfather  must  have  an 
occasional  morning  to  give  to  his  MSS. ;  then  you  and  I  could 
leave  him  in  absolute  peace  and  quiet,  and  we  might  go  away 
for  a  stroll  up  to  Arthur's  Seat,  or  round  the  ramparts  of  the 
castle,  and  return  to  him  by  lunch-time.  Wouldn't  that  be  an 
excellent  arrangement  I" 

"  Yes,  that  would  be  very  nice  indeed,"  said  she,,  with  «  pleased 


■" 


:| 


1S8 


■TAKO   FAIT,  0IIAIO>«0TtTOIf  t 


oxprossion ;  she  soemoil  to  look  forward  to  tliia  closo  and  con- 
stant companioniibip  an  tlio  moat  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

And,  in  fact,  so  sanguine  was  the  young  man  about  the  iiicccsa 
of  his  new  achemo  that,  when  tho  throo  of  them  were  seated  nt 
a  small  table  in  Montavisti's  restaurant,  ho  ventured  to  hint  to 
old  George  Ikthune  his  fond  hope  that  ho  might  bo  allowed  to 
join  i"  that  prolonged  excursion  through  Scotland ;  and  the  old 
man  at  once  acquiesced. 

"  Yea,  yes ;  why  not?"  be  said ;  and  then  he  went  on, absent- 
ly :  "  Yet  my  nerve  is  uot  what  it  was.  Sometimes  I  hesitate. 
It  would  grieve  me  more  than  I  can  say  if  Maisrie  here  were  to 
be  disappointed.  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  was  in  the  country ; 
perhaps  I  remember  only  the  beautiful  things ;  and  it  is  only  of 
Uiese  she  has  heard  me  talk.  When  Sturoo  thinks  of  the  old 
home,  the  dappled  hills  shine  for  him.    You  remember,  Maisrie  t 

" '  0  D«tlr«  land  I  0  oheriihed  home, 

I've  MllodacroM  the  M«;  ..>-„,-    .^  ,«^.;. 

And,  though  my  wandering  jfootatept  roam,    •'■.'.  ■ '  ^^ 
M;  heart  ttlll  turna  to  thee  I  . , '»  V 

My  thoughta  and  drearaa  are  iweet  and  bright 
With  dew  which  love  diatila ; 

While  every  gleam  of  golden  light 
Falla  on  the  Scottiah  billa.' 

He  forgets  the  mists  and  the  rain  and  tho  darkened  days.  And 
you,  Maisrie,  you  have  been  brought  up  under  fair,  blue  skies ; 
yon  h*vfl  never  learned  how  sombre  days  and  wild  and  driving 
clouds  stir  the  imagination ;  perhaps,  if  you  stood  in  the  very 
street  where  tho  '  bonnie  Earl  o'  Moray  camo  sounding  through 
the  town,'  you  would  see  only  the  wtt  pavements  and  the  dull 
windows ;  and  you  might  turn  to  nic  aud  say, '  Is  this  what 
you  have  talked  about  to  me,  grandfather  1' "  Then  all  of  a 
sndden  he  seemed  to  throw  off  his  despondent  fit  as  by  a  vio- 
lent effort.  "  No,  no  I"  said  he,  in  quite  a  different  tone.  "  I 
will  not  believe  but  that  there  are  still  yellow  cornfields  and  sil- 
ver lakes  in  bonnio  Scotland,  and  the  lark  singing  as  high  in  the 
heavens  as  when  Tr  inahill  or  Hogg  or  Motherwell  paused  to 
listen.  I  will  show  ^  an  the  red  rowans  hanging  from  the  moun- 
tain crag,  aud  the  golden  bracken  down  by  the  side  of  the  bam ; 
and  if  we  go  still  farther  away — to  the  lonely  islands  of  the 
Western  seas — ^then  you  must  learn  to  foigst  the  soft  prettiness 


ITAVD  rUlft  OBAIO-BOTITOM I 


189 


cloao  and  con- 
I  tho  world. 
>oat  the  racccM 
I  were  Mated  at 
ured  to  hint  to 
it  bo  allowed  to 
ad ;  and  the  old 

went  on,  abaent- 
times  I  hoaitate. 
irie  here  were  to 
in  the  country ; 
and  it  ia  only  of 
hinks  of  the  old 
iiember,  Maiarie! 


B, 

•right 


t«V- 


ened  days.    And 
fair,  blue  akics; 
wild  and  driving 
itood  in  the  very 
ounding  through 
inta  and  the  dull 
ly, « la  this  what 
Then  all  of  a 
^t  fit  as  by  a  vio- 
Icrent  tone.     "I 
iornftelds  and  ail- 
ing aa  high  in  the 
[erwell  paused  to 
g  from  the  raoun- 
Iside  of  the  bam ; 
lly  lalandB  of  the 
\t  soft  pretUnesa 


j^a 


of  tlio  sunnier  Sooth,  and  to  let  tho  myaterioua  charm  of  isola- 
tion hold  you,  and  tho  majesty  of  tho  (larkoiiod  mountains,  and 
tlio  pathetic  beauty  of  the  wandering  veils  of  rain.  I  would 
sooner  forgot  the  mother  that  bore  me,"  ho  said,  with  a  proud 
ring  in  his  voice,  "than  believe  that  bonnio  Scotland  had  lost 
lior  glamour  and  wonder  and  faaoitiation.  And  you  would  be 
no  holiday  touriat,  Maisrie ;  yon  belong  by  blood  to  the '  land  of 
wild  weather;'  and  imagination  ia  part  of  the  dowry  of  youth. 
No,  no ;  I  do  not  fear.  I — I  made  a  miRtako  when  I  aaid  I 
wna  afraid — I  am  not  afraid  of  yon,  Maisrie — not  afraid  of 
you—  you  have  the  fine  sympathy,  the  intolligenoe,  the  quick 
imagination  thai  I  can  trust  —  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  Mai*- 


II 


no — 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,  grandfather,"  the  girl  aaid,  gen- 
tly  —  for  she  saw  that  he  waa  somewhat  disturbed.  "  Why 
should  you  be  afraid,  grandfather!  I  aball  be  looking  with 
your  eyes." 

But  the  curious  thing  waa  that,  despite  all  this  talking  about 
tlio  projected  pilgrimage,  it  never  aeemed  to  come  any  nearer. 
No  mention  of  a  date,  or  even  of  any  approximate  time,  waa 
ever  made.  In  like  manner,  their  return  to  America,  though 
tlio  old  gentleman  apoke  of  it  now  and  again  as  a  fixed  and 
definite  and  necesaary  thing,  kept  receding  backwards  and  back- 
wards into  a  perfectly  nebulous  future.  The  present  nioment 
was  everything  to  old  George  Bethnne,  whether  ho  was  en- 
gaged with  a  roedeer  cutlet  at  a  restaurant  in  Regent  Street, 
or  lighting  his  pipe  and  mixing  his  toddy  on  his  return  home, 
while  he  was  descanting  on  Barbour  and  Drummond  and  Sir 
David  Lindesay,  or  Bamsay  and  Ferguson  and  Bums.  People 
were  beginning  to  leave  town ;  Vincent  had  received  and  de- 
clined an  invitation  to  join  a  big  house-party  in  Argyllshire, 
notwithstanding  that  it  was  to  the  same  house  that  Mrs.  Ellison 
and  Lord  Musselburgh  were  going;  but  old  Qeorge  Bethune 
and  his  granddaughter  appeared  to  pay  no  heed  to  the  chang. 
ing  times  and  seasons;  their  placid,  uneventful  life  seemed 
quite  enough  for  them.  And  was  it  not  enough  for  this  young 
man  also,  who  had  been  admitted  to  be  their  constant  associate 
and  friend !  Why  should  he  vex  himself  about  literary  schemes 
that  were  none  of  his  devisiug  ?  Day  by  day  he  waved  a  good- 
moming  to  M/jrie  as  she  came  to  water  her  flowers,  and  an  an- 


i 


:  ^ 


w 


140 


STAND   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTOIT  t 


swcr  camo  from  the  smiling  eyes ;  sometimes  he  walkr  il  out  into 
the  parks  in  the  afternoon  with  her  grandfather  and  herself, 
and  even  he  rejoiced  to  see  that  the  fine  peach-bloom  on  her 
cheek  was  surmounting  the  sun-tinge  that  had  been  left  there 
by  travel ;  then  in  the  evening  they  had  all  London  to  choose 
from,  as  to  f^here  they  should  dine,  with  a  quiet  stroll  home- 
wards thoreaftei',  to  music,  and  dominoes,  and  careless  talk. 
What  mure  ?  The  great  outer  world  might  go  on  its  way,  and 
welcome. 

But  Master  Yin  was  about  to  be  startled  out  of  this  dreamful 
ease.  At  last  there  camo  an  answer  to  the  communication  ho 
had  sent  to  the  iditor  of  the  Western  Scotsman^  with  many 
apologies  for  unavoidable  delay.  Mr.  Anstruther,  it  appeared, 
had  been  in  Canada,  taking  his  annual  holiday  among  his  kins- 
men and  countrymen  there.     The  writer  went  on : 

"I  inubt  Bay  your  letter  hu  astanlshed  mo  beyond  measure,  and  I  would 
fain  believe  t'uat  there  ia  some  great  mistake  somewliere,  wliich  is  capable  of 
explanation.  It  is  quite  true  that  when  I  gave  my  venerable  friend  Mr. 
Bethune  a  note  of  introduction  to  Lord  Musselburgh,  I  was  aware  that  he 
had  in  view  various  literary  projects — in  fact,  his  brain  teems  with  them  as 
if  he  were  a  young  roan  of  five-and-twenty — the  pei/ervidum  ingtmum  Seoto- 
n:m  in  his  case  has  taken  hold  of  bis  imagination ;  but  I  cannot  understand 
how  he  could  have  included  in  these  the  publicatioi  of  a  volume  on  the  Scot- 
tish poets  in  America,  for  the  simpie  reason  that  he  must  have  known  that 
such  a  work  was  not  only  !r  progress  here,  but  that  it  was  near  completion. 
'Why,  I  myself  showzd  Mr.  fiethune  proofs  of  the  early  sheets  of  tliia  volume, 
for  the  author  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine ;  and  as  it  was  being  set  up  he 
used  to  scr.d  me  *.he  sheeU>  as  they  were  printed ;  and  Mr.  EsMiune  being  in 
the  habit  of  "uiUug  at  my  o£Bce,  I  not  only  showed  them  to  him,  but  I  fancy 
I  let  him  take  some  of  them  away,  that  he  might  read  them  at  his  leisure. 
How  he  should  now  propose  to  bring  out  a  similar  work,  and  bespeak  Lord 
Masselburgh's  patronage  for  it,  as  I  presume  he  did,  passes  my  U/mprehen* 
sion,  except  on  tlie  ground  that,  being  an  old  man,  he  may  have  suffered 
from  some  temporary  attack  of  mental  aberration  and  forgetful ness.  I  would 
rather  believe  this  than  that  a  mau  whom  I  had  taken  for  a  thorough  Scot, 
loyal  and  true  to  th3  b'skbone,  and  proud  of  his  country  and  cf  his  own  name 
and  lineage,  should  be  endeavoring  to  supplant  anothei-  worker  who  is  already 
in  possession  of  the  field.  However,  no  actual  ha;m  can  be  done,  for  the 
vol') me  I  speak  ot  is  on  the  eve  of  publication,  and  no  doubt  it  will  be  issued 
sijiultaueously  in  England.  That  is  all  I  have  to  say  on  a  subject  which  at 
present  seems  to  me  to  have  something  of  a  painful  aspect — though  I  hope  a 
satisfactory  explanation  may  be  forthcoming.  Ic  conclosion  may  I  beg  of 
you  to  keep  this  letter  private  ?  The  facts  are  as  I  have  stated ;  but  I  would 
rather  Mr.  Bethune  did  not  know  you  had  them  from  me. 

"  Tours  faithf  ullv  HuoH  Amsibutbxb." 


BTANO   FAST,  OtUIO-ROTBTOV  I 


141 


vralkr  d  out  into 
ler  und  herself, 
;li-blooni  on  her 
[  been  left  there 
sndon  to  choose 
liet  stroll  home- 
id  careless  talk. 

on  its  way,  and 

of  this  dreamful 
>mmunication  ho 
man,  with  many 
her,  it  appeared, 
among  his  kins- 
on: 

teasure,  and  I  would 
,  which  is  capable  of 
renerable  friend  Mr. 
[  was  awRte  that  he 
teems  with  them  as 
\dum  ingmium  Seolo- 
I  cannot  understand 
volume  on  the  Scot- 
ist  have  known  that 
as  near  completion, 
heets  of  this  volume, 
was  being  set  up  he 
r.  Bothune  being  in 
to  him,  but  I  fancy 
them  at  his  leisure, 
and  bespeak  Lord 
ises  my  w/roprehen* 
may  have  suffered 
jetfulness.    I  would 
for  a  thorough  Scot, 
knd  of  his  own  name 
rorker  who  is  already 
in  be  done,  for  the 
bubt  it  will  be  issued 
a  subject  which  at 
A — though  I  hope  a 
losion  may  I  beg  of 
stated;  but  I  would 

iioH  AxsiacraxK." 


For  some  time  Vincent  Harris  sat  with  this  letter  in  hid  hand, 
in  a  sort  of  stupefaction.  Curiously  enough,  his  first  question  to 
himself  was.  What  if  Mrs.  Ellison  should  get  to  know  ?  Would 
she  not  triumphantly  declare  that  her  worst  suspicions  had  been 
confirmed  ?  That  was  but  a  first  thought.  There  must  bo  some 
explanation  I  Ho  had  not  associated  so  continually  with  George 
Bcthune,  he  had  not  heard  the  old  man's  voice  thrill  with  proud 
emotion  as  he  spoke  of  Scotland's  hillo  and  dales,  he  had  not 
seen  his  eyes  fill  with  unbidden  tears  as  he  talked  of  his  grand- 
daughter and  the  loneliness  that  might  be  in  store  for  her,  all 
for  nothing.  Not  at  once  could  he  be  convinced  that  this  old 
man  was  a  mere  charlatan,  a  thief,  a  begging-letter  impostor. 
But  he  had  been  startled ;  and  when  he  reached  his  lodgings  in 
that  small  thoroughfare,  he  hardly  dared  look  across  the  way ; 
he  knew  not  what  to  think. 


.-■j'^  :&I.-*-r5^-,v.;-  • '  CHAPTER  IX.      ; 

DOUBTS   AKD'  DRBAMS. 


-.a'- 


And  at  first  Vincent  was  for  rebelliously  thrusting  aside 
and  ignoring  this  information  that  had  reached  him  so  unex- 
pectedly. Was  he,  on  the  strength  of  a  statement  forwarded 
by  an  unknown  correspondent  in  Now  York,  to  suspect  —  nay, 
to  condemn  unheard  —  this  proud  and  solitary  old  man,  with 
whom  he  had  all  this  while  been  on  terms  of  &uch  close  and 
friendly  intimacy)  Had  he  not  had  ample  opportunities  of 
judging  whether  George  Bethune  was  the  sort  of  person  likely 
to  have  done  this  thing  that  was  now  charged  against  him  t 
He  went  over  these  past  weeks  and  months.  Was  it  any  won- 
der that  the  old  man's  indomitable  courage,  his  passionate  love 
of  his  native  land,  and  the  constsnt  and  assiduous  care  and  af- 
fection he  bestowed  on  his  granddaughter  should  have  aroosed 
alike  the  young  man's  admiration  and  his  gratitude?  What 
if  he  talked  with  too  lofty  an  air  of  birth  and  lineage,  or  allowed 
his  enthusiasm  about  Scotland  and  Scottish  song  to  lead  him 
into  the  realms  of  rodomontade  ?  May  not  an  old  man  have  his 
harroieBa  foibles  ?    Any  one  who  had  witnessed  Maisrie's  diovo* 


^ 


m 


'^^ 


142 


STAND   VAST,  OBAIO-BOTSTON  S 


tion  to  her  grandfather,  her  gentle  forb  -^rance  and  <^onsidera- 
tion,  her  skilful  hamoring  of  him,  and  her  never-faiMng  faith  in 
him,  must  have  got  to  know  what  kind  of  man  was  old  George 
Bothune. 

And  yet,  when  Vincent  turned  to  the  letter,  it  seemed  terri- 
bly simple  and  straightforward  and  sincere.  There  was  no 
Tindictivencss  in  it  at  all ;  rather  there  was  a  pained  surprise  on 
the  part  of  the  writer  that  a  loyal  Scot — one,  too,  who  had  been 
admitted  into  that  fraternity  of  song-writing  exiles  over  the 
water — should  have  been  guilty  of  such  a  flagrant  breach  of 
trust.  Then  Lord  Musselburgh's  patronage,  as  the  young  man 
knew  very  well,  had  taken  the  form  of  a  check;  so  that  the 
charge  brought  by  the  writer  of  this  letter  practically  was  that 
G^eorge  Bethnne  had  obtained,  and  might  even  now  be  obtain- 
ing, money  by  fraud  and  false  pretences.  It  was  a  bewildering 
thing  —  an  impossible  thing  —  to  think  of.  And  now,  as  he 
strove  to  construct  all  sorts  of  explanatory  hypotheses,  there 
seemed  to  stand  in  the  background  the  visionary  form  of  Mrs. 
Ellison ;  and  her  eyes  were  cold  and  inquiiing.  How  had  she 
come  to  suspect?  It  was  not  likely  that  she  could  be  famil- 
iar with  the  Scotch-American-  newspaper  offices  of  the  United 
States. 

No,  he  could  make  nothing  of  it ;  his  perplexity  only  in- 
creased. All  kinds  of  doubts,  snrmises,  possible  excuses,  went 
chasing  each  other  through  his  brain.  Perhaps  it  was  only 
literary  vanity  that  had  prompted  the  old  man  to  steal  this 
project  when  it  was  placed  before  him  ?  Or  perhaps  he  thought 
he  had  a  better  right  to  it,  from  his  wide  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
ject! Vincent  knew  little  of  the  laws  and  by-laws  of  the  li^ 
entry  world ;  perhaps  this  was  but  a  bit  of  rivalry  carried  too 
far ;  and  in  any  case,  supposing  the  old  man  had  erred  in  his 
eagerness  to  claim  this  topic  as  his  own,  surely  that  did  not 
prove  him  to  be  a  charlatan  all  the  way  through,  still  less  a  pro- 
fessional impostor  f  But  then  his  making  use  of  this  scheme  to 
obtain  money — and  that  not  only  from  Lord  Musselburgh.  Oh, 
well  (the  young  man  tried  to  convince  himself),  there  might  not 
be  so  much  harm  in  that.  No  doubt  he  looked  forwud  to  issu- 
ing the  volume,  and  giving  his  patrons  value  in  return.  Old 
George  Bethuno,  as  he  knew,  was  quite  careless  about  pecuniary 
matters — for  example,  if  the  bill  for  those  little  dinners  at  the 


STAND   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTOIT I 


143 


)  and  <^onsidera- 
r-faiHng  fauth  in 
1  ^aa  old  Oeorge 

,  it  seemed  terri- 
Thcre  was  no 
uned  Borpriso  on 
JO,  who  had  been 
exiles  over  the 
agrant  breach  of 
A  the  young  man 
iCck;  so  that  the 
actically  was  that 
sn  now  be  obtain- 
was  a  bewildering 
And  now,  as  he 
hypotheses,  there 
nary  form  of  Mrs. 
ig.  How  had  she 
le  could  be  famil- 
Ices  of  the  United 

perplexity  only  in- 
iible  excuses,  went 
rhaps  it  was  only 
man  to  steal  this 
lerhaps  he  thought 
[wledge  of  the  sub- 
by-laws  of  the  lit- 
•ivalry  carried  too 
.  had  erred  in  his 
irely  that  did  not 
igh,  still  less  a  pro- 
e  of  this  scheme  to 
iMusselburgh.    Oh, 
f ),  there  might  not 
[ed  forward  to  issn- 
LO  in  return.    Old 
_  about  pecuniary 
ittle  dinners  at  the 


various  restaurants  was  paid  by  some  one,  that  was  enough ;  the 
old  gentleman  made  no  further  inquiries.  He  w&s  content  to 
let  his  young  friend  settle  these  trivial  details ;  and  Master  Yin 
was  willing  enough.  In  fact,  the  latter  had  devised  a  system 
by  which  the  awkwardness  of  calling  for  the  bill  in  Maisrie's 
presence  was  avoided ;  this  system  worked  admirably,  and  Mr. 
Betbiiue  asked  no  questions.  Doubtless,  if  he  had  remembered, 
or  taken  the  trouble,  he  would  have  paid  his  shot  like  any  one 
else. 

Bat  amid  all  these  conflicting  speculations,  there  was  one 
point  on  which  the  mind  of  this  young  man  remained  clear  and 
unswerving ;  and  that  was  that  whatever  might  he  the  character 
or  career  of  old  Oeorge  Bethune,  his  principles  or  his  practice, 
Maisrie  was  as  far  apart  and  dissociated  from  them  as  if  worlds 
intervened.  If  there  had  been  any  malfeasance  in  this  matter, 
she,  at  least,  was  no  sharer  in  it.  And  the  more  he  pondered, 
the  more  anxious  he  became  to  know  whether  Maisrie  had  any 
idea  of  the  position  in  which  her  grandfather  was  placed.  How 
much  would  he  be  entitled  to  tell  her,  supposing  she  was  in 
ignorance  i  And  when  could  he  hope  for  an  opportunity  ?  And 
then,  again,  failing  an  opportunity,  how  was  he  to  go  and  spend 
the  eveping  with  those  two  friends  of  his,  pretending  to  be  en- 
tirely engrossed  by  their  little  amusements  and  occupations  out 
doors  and  in,  while  all  the  time  there  was  lying  in  his  pocket 
this  letter,  unanswered  and,  perhaps,  unanswerable ! 

Fortune  favored  him.  Towards  evening,  a  little  before  six 
o'clock,  he  heard  a  door  shut  on  the  other  side  of  the  street ; 
and,  lifting  his  head,  he  perceived  that  it  was  Mr.  Bethune  who 
had  just  come  out  of  the  house,  alone.  Here  was  a  chance  not 
to  be  missed.  Waiting  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  to  make  sure 
that  the  coast  was  clear,  he  passed  down-stairs,  crossed  the  little 
thoroughfare,  and  knocked.  The  landlady  told  him  that  MLsa 
Bethune  was  up-stairs,  and  up-stairs  he  went  The  next  mo- 
ment a  voice  that  he  knew  well  invited  him  to  enter,  and  there- 
upon the  two  young  people  found  themselves  face  to  face. 

"  You  are  early,"  she  said,  with  a  little  smile  of  welcome,  as 
she  stopped  in  her  sewing. 

"  Yea,"  said  he,  and  he  added,  quite  frankly,  "  I  saw  your 
grandfather  go  out,  and  I  wished  to  speak  with  yon  alone.  The 
fact  is,  Maisrie,"  he  continued,  taking  a  chair  opposite  her,  "I 


144 


STAND   TABT,  0RAIO-R0T8T0H  t 


have  heard  from  America  to-day  about  that  proposal  T  made 

to  get  some  one  to  collect  materials  for  7our  grandfather's  book, 
and  the  answer  is  rather  a  strange  one — i  don't  qnite  understand 
— perhaps  you  can  tell  me  something  about  it."  He  hesitated, 
and  then  we':^t  on,  "  Maisrie,  I  suppose  it  never  occurred  to  you 
that — that  some  one  else  in  America  might  be  proposing  to 
bring  out  a  similar  book  f ' 

She  looked  up  quickly,  and  with  a  certain  apprehension  in  hc-r 
eyes. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  knew.  My  grandfather  told  me  there  had  been  talk 
of  such  a  thing.     What  have  you  heard !"     -'  i*  «* 

He  stared  at  her. 

*'  You  knew !"  said  he.  "  Then  surely  you  might  have  told 
me!" 

There  was  something  in  his  tone,  some  touch  of  reproach,  that 
brought  the  blood  to  her  face,  and  yet  she  answered  calmly  and 
yrithout  resentment: 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  ? — ^nor  my  grandfather  f  But  perhaps 
neither  of  us  thought  it  of  much  importance.  It  was  only  some 
vague  talk,  as  I  understood ;  for  every  one  must  have  known  that 
no  one  was  so  familiar  with  the  subject  as  my  grandfather,  and 
that  it  would  be  foolish  to  try  to  interfere  with  him.  At  the 
same  time  I  have  always  been  anxious  that  he  should  get  on 
with  the  book,  for  various  reasons;  and  if  you  have  heard 
anything  that  will  induce  him  to  begin  at  once,  so  much  the 
better." 

It  was  clear  that  she  was  wholly  in  ignorance  of  the  true  state 
of  the  case. 

"  No,"  said  he,  watching  her  the  while ;  "  what  I  have  heard 
will  not  have  that  effect,  but  rather  the  reverae.  To  tell  you  tho 
plain  truth,  the  American  or  Scotch-American  writer  has  finished 
his  book,  and  it  will  be  out  almost  directly." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  an  involuntary  gesture,  and  stood 
still  for  a  moment,  her  lips  grew  suddenly  pale,  and  her  eyes 
bewildered ;  and  then  she  turned  away  from  him  to  hide  her 
emotion,  and  walked  to  the  window.  Instantly  he  followed 
her. 

"  Maisrie,  what  is  the  matter  {"  he  exclaimed  in  astonishment, 
for  he  found  that  tears  had  sprung  to  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  shame,  it  is  a  shame  I"  she  said,  in  broken  ac- 


y  —• 


STAITD   FAST,  ORAIO-ROTWOH I 


14« 


oposal  T  made— 
and!  a^her'8  book, 
quite  understand 
"  He  hesitated, 
r  occurred  to  you 
be  proposing  to 

prehension  in  her 

uere  had  been  talk 

I  might  have  told 

1  of  reproach,  that 
iwered  calmly  and 

jr!  But  perhaps 
It  was  only  some 
tt  have  known  that 
V  grandfather,  and 
fith  him.  At  the 
he  should  get  on 
you  have  heard 
>nce,  so  much  the 

;e  of  the  true  state 

itrhat  I  have  heard 
E.  To  tell  you  the 
writer  has  finished 

gesture,  and  stood 
)ale,  and  her  eyes 
him  to  hide  her 
mtly  he  followed 

in  astonishment, 
I. 
ud,  in  broken  ac- 


cents, and  her  hands  were  clenched,  "  to  steal  an  old  man's 
good  name  from  him,  and  that  for  so  small  a  thing  I  What  harm 
had  he  ever  done  them  ?  The  book  was  such  a  small  thing ; 
they  might  have  left  it  to  him.  What  can  they  gain  fro.-B 
it  J" 

"  But,  Muisrie— " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand,  Vincent ;  you  don't  understand  at 
all,"  she  said  in  a  despairing  sort  of  way,  "  how  my  grandfather 
will  be  compromised  1  He  nhdertook  to  bring  out  the  book ;  he 
got  friends  to  help  him  with  money ;  and  now — now,  what  will 
they  think  f  What  can  I  say  to  them  t  What  can  I  do  t  I — I 
mast  go  to  them ;  but— but  what  can  I  >-  v  f ' 

Her  tears  were  running  afresh  now,  and  at  sight  of  them  the 
young  man  threw  to  the  winds  all  his  doubts  and  conjectures  con* 
ceming  George  Bethune's  honesty.  That  was  not  the  question 
now. 

<*  No,  yon  shall  not  go  to  them  1"  said  he,  with  indignant  eyes. 
"You! — you  go  to  any  one— in  that  way  t  No, yon  shali  not 
I  will  go.  It  is  a  question  of  money :  I  will  pay  them  their 
money  back.  Tell  me  who  they  are,  aad  the  amounts,  and  they 
shall  have  every  farthing  of  their  money  back,  and  at  once. 
What  can  they  ask  for  more  t" 

For  a  second  she  regarded  him  wi:'t  a  swift  glance  of  almost 
more  than  gratitude ;  but  it  was  only  to  shake  her  head. 

"No, how  could  I  allow  yoii  to  do  that!  What  explanation 
could  yon  make!  There  must  be  some  other  way.  Often  I 
have  wished  that  my  grandfather  would  let  me  try  to  earn  some* 
thing ;  I  am  willing  enough,  end  I  am  never  sure  of  my  grand- 
father, because  he  can  belibvc  things  so  easily."  She  had  grown 
calmer,  and  over  her  face  there  h«d  come  the  curious  look  of 
resignation  that,  he  had  aoticed  when  firitt  he  saw  her,  and  that 
seemed  so  strange  in  a  young  girl.  *'  I  might  have  expected 
thi/i,"  she  went  on,  absently  and  sadly.  "  My  grandfather  can 
persuade  himself  of  anything ;  if  he  thinks  a  thing  is  done, 
that  is  enough.  I  am  sure  I  have  urged  him  to  get  on  with 
this  book — not  that  I  thought  anybody  could  be  so  mean  and 
cruel  as  to  step  in  and  forestall  him,  but  that  he  might  get  free 
from  those  obligations;  but  I  suppose  when  he  had  once  ar- 
ranged all  the  materials  in  his  own  mind,  he  felt  that  the  rest 
was  easy  enoagh,  and  that  there  was  no  hurry.  Ho  takes  things 
10      G 


w 


\ 


i4e 


•TAHD  rAST,  ORAIO-BOTSTOBI 


■o  lightly ;  and  now  the  hnmiliation — well,  I  shall  have  to  bear 
that — "  m>ii:^  ,»ft^>  f^.% ^>,'t&iim/',\  #^i. . 

"  I  my  you  shall  not,"  he  sud,  hotly.  '*  I  claim  the  pririlege 
of  a  friend,  and  yon  cannot  refuse.  Who  are  the  people  to 
whom  your  grandfather  is  indebted  over  this  volume  t"  he  de- 
manded. 

"  iot  one,  there  is  Lord  Musselburgh,"  she  said,  but  indiffer- 
ently, as  if  no  hope  lay  that  way.  "  And  there  is  Mr.  Carmichael, 
who  owns  an  Edinburgh  paper, the  Chronkh" 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  promptly.  "  What  is  to  hinder  my  ex- 
plaining to  them  that  circumstances  have  occurred  to  prevent 
Mr.  Bethuv.e  bringing  out  the  volume  he  had  projected,  and  that 
hr;  begft  to  rpturn  them  the  money  they  had  been  good  enough 
tc  advance !"  .,'■;  -  ■  ■  --"  ;t44  trnv: 

She  shook  her  head  again  and  sighed. 

"  No.  It  is  very  kind  of  you.  You  are  always  kind.  But  I 
could  not  accept  it.  I  must  ivy  some  way  myself,  though  I  am 
rather  helpless ;  it  is  so  difficult  to  get  my  grandfather  to  see 
things.  I  told  you  before ;  he  lives  in  a  world  of  imiigination, 
and  he  can  persuade  himself  that  everytbicg  is  well,  no  matter 
how  we  are  situated.  But  it  was  shameful  of  them,"  she  said, 
with  her  indignation  returning,  and  her  lips  becoming  at  once 
proud  and  tremulous,  "  to  cheat  an  old  man  out  of  so  poor  and 
small  a  thing  1  Why,  they  all  knew  he  was  going  to  write  this 
book — all  the  writers  themselves — they  were  known  to  bim  per- 
flonally,  and  glad  enough  they  were  to  send  him  their  verses. 
Well,  perhaps  they  are  not  to  blame.  Perhaps  they  may  have 
been  told  that  ho  had  given  up  the  idea — ^that  is  quite  likely. 
At  all  events,  I  don't  envy  the  miserable  creature  who  has  gone 
and  taken  advantage  of  my  grandfather's  absence — " 

She  could  say  no  more  just  then,  for  there  was  a  sound  below 
of  the  door  being  opened  and  shut ;  and  the  next  minute  they 
could  hear  old  George  Bethune  coming  with  his  active  step  up 
the  flight  of  stairs,  while  he  sang  aloud,  in  fine  bravura  fashion, 
*''Tis  the  march,  'tis  the  march,  'tis  the  march  of  the  Cameron 
menl" 

The  little  dinner  in  the  restaurant  that  evening  was  altogether 
unlike  those  that  had  preceded  it.  The  simple  and  innocent 
gayety,  the  sense  of  snugness  and  good-comradeship,  appeared 
to  have  fled,  leaving  behind  it  a  certain  awkwardLdss  and  re- 


fii'fSf^!'' 


STAND   FABT,  ORAIO-BOTSTOH I 


U1 


all  have  to  bear 

im  tbe  privilege 
)  the  people  to 
volume!"  he  de- 

u(],  but  indiffer- 
Mr.  Oinniobael, 

to  binder  my  ei- 
irred  to  prevent 
ojected,  and  that 
en  good  enough 

■  m'li^i-    ■■■; 

lys  kind.     But  I 
self,  though  I  am 
andfather  to  see 
1  of  imiigination, 
8  well,  no  matter 
them,"  she  said, 
tecoming  at  once 
it  of  80  poor  and 
>ing  to  write  this 
aown  to  him  per- 
bim  their  verses. 
is  they  may  have 
it  is  quite  likely, 
ire  who  has  gone 
ice — 

as  a  sound  below 
next  minute  they 
lis  active  step  up 
bravura  fashion, 
1  of  the  Cameron 

ing  was  altogether 
pie  and  innocent 
adeship,  appeared 
LwardLdSS  and  re* 

r 


straint.  Vincent  was  entirely  pArplexod.  The  story  bo  had  heard 
from  America  was  in  no  way  to  be  reconciled  with  Maisrie's  in- 
terpretation of  her  grandfather's  position,  but  it  was  possible 
that  the  eld  man  had  concealed  from  her  certain  material  facts, 
or  perhaps  bad  been  able  to  blind  himself  to  them.  But  what 
troubled  the  young  man  most  of  all  was  to  notice  that  the  old 
look  of  pensive  resignation  bad  returned  to  Maisrie's  face.  For 
a  time  a  brighter  life  had  shone  there ;  the  natural  animation 
and  color  of  youth  had  appeared  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  had 
laughter  in  them,  and  smiles,  and  kindness,  and  gratitude ;  but 
all  that  had  gone  now,  quite  suddenly  as  it  seemed,  and  there 
had  como  back  that  strange  sadness,  that  look  of  unresisting  and 
hopeless  acquiescence.  Alone  of  the  little  party  of  three,  George 
Bothune  retained  his  usual  equanimity  ;  nay,  on  this  particular 
evening  he  appeared  to  be  in  especially  bi^h  spirits,  and  in  his  care- 
less and  garrulous  good-humor  he  took  little  heed  of  the  silence 
and  constraint  of  the  two  younger  folk.  They  made  all  the  bet- 
ter audience,  and  he  could  enforce  and  adorn  his  main  argument 
with  all  the  illustrations  he  could  muster ;  he  was  allowed  to 
have  everything  his  own  way. 

And  perhaps  Vincent,  thinking  of  Maisrie  and  her  tears,  and 
the  hopelessness  and  solitariness  of  her  position,  may  have  been 
inclined  to  resent  what  he  could  not  but  regard  as  a  callous  and 
culpable  indifference.  At  all  events,  be  took  the  first  opportunity 
that  presented  itself  of  saying : 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  the  bearer  of  ill  news,  Mr.  Bethune,  but  I 
have  just  heard  from  New  York  that  some  one  over  there  has 
talccn  up  your  subject,  and  thkt  a  volume  on  the  Scotch  poets  in 
America  is  just  about  ready,  and  will  be  published  immediately." 

Maisrie  glanced  timidly  at  her  grandfather,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing to  fear  on  bis  account — ^he  was  not  one  to  quail. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  indeed !"  said  be,  with  a  lofty  magnanimity. 
"  Well,  I  hope  it  will  be  properly  and  satisfactorily  done.  I  hope 
it  will  be  done  in  a  way  worthy  of  the  subject.  Maisrie,  pass  the 
French  mustard,  if  yon  please.  A  grand  subject,  for  surely  these 
natural  and  simple  expressions  of  the  human  heart  are  as  deeply 
interesting  as  the  more  finished,  the  more  literary  productions  of 
the  professional  poet  A  single  verse,  rough  and  rugged  as  you 
like,  and  the  living  man  stands  revealed.  Ay,  ay,  so  the  book  is 
coming  out !    Well,  I  hope  the  public  will  be  lenient.     I  hope 


148 


ITAWD   rAST,  OBAId-ROrnOVI 


1*10  public  will  underaUn'l  that  thes*  men  ara  not  p'ofer*"  lal 
poets,  who  have  studied  and  written  in  ieidr.re  uli  thtir  lire.  ;  it 
is  bat  a  homely  lilt  th>37  offer,  but  it  is  genuine,  it  is  fi(..  the 
heart,  and  it  speaks  to  the  heart." 

"  But,  grandfather,"  said  Tdsisrie,  "  yon  w  re  to  have  ritten 
khebrt^kr  ^  ,;  .^^l^iVvv^-'^^  fa- 

«<  k<'hat  inntt.<rs  it  who  eosrtpiles  the  pagm  t  that  is  nothing  at 
•11 ;  that  is,  in  a  measure,  mechanical.  I  am  only  anxious  ttiat 
it  should  be  well  done,  with  tact  and  discretion  and  modesty," 
be  continued,  and  with  snch  obvious  sincerity  that  Vinsent  was 
more  than  ever  perplexed.  *'  For  the  sake  of  old  Scotlaud,  I 
wonld  willingly  give  my  help  for  nothing— a  little  guidance  he.-^ 
and  there — a  few  biographical  factu — even  an  amen^^ed  line. 
But,  after  all,  the  men  must  speak  for  themselves ;  and  ..ell  they 
will  speak,  if  the  public  will  but  remember  that  these  verses  have 
for  the  most  part  been  thought  of  during  the  busy  rush  of  a 
commercial  life,  and  written  down  in  a  chance  evening  hour.  It 
will  be  a  message  across  the  sea,  to  show  that  Scotland's  sons 
have  not  forgotten  her.  MacGregor  Crerar,  Donald  Ramsay, 
Hugh  Ainslic,  Evan  MacColl,  Andrew  Wanless — I  onder  if 
ihey  have  got  Wanless's  address  to  the  robin  that  was  sent  to 
tiim  from  Scotland  f    You  remember,  Maisrie  f 

" '  Tliere'B  mair  tlun  vou,  my  bonnie  bird, 

Hae  croBMd  the  ragiog  main, 
Wha  mourn  the  blytho,  the  happy  days 

They'll  never  ace  again. 
Sweet  bird,  oome  sing  a  lang  to  me, 

Unmindfu'  o'  our  ilia ; 
And  let  us  think  we're  ance  again 

'Hang  onr  ain  heatber  hills  V 

The  book  will  be  welcomed  by  many  a  proud  heart,  and  with 
moist  eyes,  when  it  gets  away  np  among  the  glens,  to  be  read  by 
the  fireside  and  repeated  at  the  plough ;  and  I  thick,  Maisrie, 
when  you  and  I  take  a  walk  along  Princess  Street  in  Edinburgh 
we  ma7  i>ee  more  than  one  or  two  copies  in  the  booksellers'  win- 
dows. Then,  I  hope  Slackwood  will  have  a  friendly  word  for  it; 
and  I  am  rure  Mr.  Carmiehael  will  allow  me  to  give  it  a  hearty 
greeting  in  the  Weekly  Chrtmicle" 

"But,  grandfather,"  said  Maisrie,  almost  pi*eonsly,  ••surely 
you  forgot  that  you  undertook  to  bring  out  this  boo](  yourself !" 


YtAim  WJUn,  0BAia-BOTaTO«l 


149 


not  f/'ofw'  i»l 
il  thtir  live-  »  »' 
e,it  i»ft''    the 

,  to  h»Te    ritten 

ibatiB  nothing  at 
,nly  anxiooB  that 
,n  and  modesty," 
that  Vinsent  was 
f  old  ScotUud,  I 
ttle  guidance !  ere 
tn  amen'^ed  line, 
res;  and  ..ell  they 
t  these  versos  have 
he  busy  rush  of  a 
,  evening  hoor.    It 
at  Scotland's  sons 
r,  Donald  Bamsay, 
iless— I     onder  if 
n  that  was  sent  to 


y% 


oud  heart,  and  with 
i  glens,  to  be  read  by 
knd  1  thick,  Maisrie, 
Street  in  Edinborgh 
the  booksellers'  win- 
friendly  word  for  if, 
e  to  give  it  a  hearty 

}t  pi*eously,  "surely 
this  booi;  yourself!" 


"  Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  with  porfoct.  good  -  humor.  "  Bnt '  the 
beat -laid  schemes  o'  mice  "  i  men  gang  aft  agley.'  And  I  do 
not  grudge  to  some  othe^  (nAt  might  have  been  mine — I  meat) 
the  association  of  one's  name  with  such  a  band  of  true  and  ioyal 
Scotchmen.  No,  I  do  not  grudge  it ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  pre- 
pare '  to  give  tuv  -^'.-ine  the  most  generous  welcome  in  my 
puwei.  It  is  not  for  a  brother  Scot  to  find  fault  in  such  a  case, 
or  to  bo  niggard  of  his  praise.  I  hope  we  arc-  capable  of  show- 
ing to  the  world  that '  we're  a'  John  Tliampson's  bairns.'  " 

Maisrie  was  growing  desperate.  Her  grandfather  would  not 
understand ;  and  yet  how  was  she  to  speak  plainly — with  Vincent 
listening  to  every  word?  And  yet  she  know  that,  now  he  v  ■-. 
aw<\re  of  all  the  circumstances,  concealment  was  impossible ;  ^ 
so  she  forced  herself  to  utterance. 

"  Grandfather,"  said  she — and  her  face  was  flushed  a  ro  ed^ 
though  she  seemed  to  take  no  heed  of  her  cmbarrasstn  it^  ,t:f 
earnest  and  imploring  was  her  speech — "  you  cannot  f .  ^,flt  i}.>'. 
obligations  you  put  yourself  under — to  Lord  MusselV'  "ga  t'  «i 
Mr.  Carmichael,  and  perhapb  others.  You  undeitooi  o  Wii'ce 
the  book.  If  that  is  impossible  now,  it  is  a  great  nf.  .  i<> ; 
but  at  least  there  is  one  thing  you  must  do :  you  must  ~i  i^loin  to 
them  what  has  happened,  and  give  them  bi^k  the  money. ' 

The  old  man  could  no  longer  shelter  himself  behind  his  gay 
and  discursive  optimism ;  he  frowned  impatiently. 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  Maisrie,"  said  he,  in  severely  meas- 
ured accents — "  and  you  are  grown  up  now,  you  might  under- 
stand for  yourself — that  there  are  times  and  seasons  when  the 
introduction  of  business  matters  is  uncalled  for  and,  in  fact,  un- 
becoming ;  and  one  of  these  is,  aurely,  when  wo  come  wii  to 
spend  a  pleasant  evening  with  our  young  friend  here.  I  do  not 
think  it  necessary  that  we  should  discuss  our  business  afftirs  be- 
fore hino — I  presume  he  would  consider  such  s  thin^  eomewhat 
inappropriate  at  a  dinner-table." 

Msisrie's  lips  quivered,  and  her  grandfather  saw  it  Instantly 
he  changed  his  tone. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  with  a  cheerful  good-nature.  "  Enough, 
enough.  I  can  quite  comprehend  how  the  re$  anffuata  domi  may 
tend  to  give  money,  and  questions  of  money,  ati  over-prominence 
in  the  minds  of  women.  But  money,  and  the  obligations  that 
money  may  piace  us  under,  are  surely  a  very  secondary  affair  to 


m 


100 


8TAin>   rAHT,  CRAIG-BOTIiTOirt 


one  who  looks  at  human  nature  with  a  larger  view.  I  thank 
Ood,"  he  went  on,  with  much  coniplaceocy,  "  that  I  have  never 
been  the  slave  of  avarice,  that  oven  in  times  of  great  necessity  I 
have  k^pt  subsidiary  things  in  their  proper  sphere ;  I  do  not 
boast ;  our  disposition  ifi  as  much  a  matter  of  inheritance  as  the 
shape  of  our  fingers  or  feet;  and  that  disposition  may  be  handed 
down  without  the  accompanying  circumstances  that  dovelcped 
it     You  follow  me,  Mr.  Harris  f" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  younger  man,  gloomily ;  that  quiver  of 
Maisrie's  lips  was  still  in  his  mind. 

For  the  first  time  Rince  ho  had  known  them,  Vincent  was  glad 
to  get  away  from  his  companions  that  night ;  the  situation  in 
which  ho  found  them  and  himself  alike  involved  was  altogether 
so  strange  that  ho  wanted  time  to  think  over  it.  And  first  of  all 
ho  put  aside  that  matter  of  the  Scotch-American  book  as  of  mi- 
nor importance  ;  no  doubt  some  kind  of  explanation  was  possible 
if  all  the  facts  wcro  revealed.  It  was  when  he  came  to  consider 
the  position  and  surroundings  of  Maisrie  Bothune  that  the  young 
man  grew  far  more  seriously  concerned ;  indeed,  his  heart  became 
surcharged  with  an  immeasurai  >le  pity  and  longing  to  help.  He 
began  to  understand  how  it  was  that  a  premature  sadness  and 
resignation  was  written  on  tliat  beautiful  face,  and  why  her  eyes 
so  rarely  smiled ;  and  ho  could  guess  at  the  origin  of  that  look 
of  hopelessness,  as  though  she  despaired  of  getting  her  grand- 
father to  acknowledge  the  realities  and  the  responsibilities  of 
the  actual  life  around  him.  To  Vincent  the  circumstances  in 
which  this  young  girl  was  placed  seemed  altogether  tragic ;  and 
when  he  regarded  the  future  that  might  lie  before  her,  it  was 
with  a  blank  dismay. 

Moreover,  ho  now  no  longer  sought  to  conceal  from  himself 
the  nature  of  this  engrossing  interest  in  all  that  coneemed  her, 
this  fascination  and  glamour  that  drew  him  towards  her,  this  con- 
stant solicitude  about  her  that  haunted  him  day  and  night  Love 
had  originally  sprung  from  pity,  perhaps ;  her  loneliness  had  aj>- 
pealed  to  him,  and  her  youth  and  the  wistful  beauty  of  her  eyes. 
But  even  now  that  he  knew  what  caused  his  heart  to  leap  when 
he  heard  her  footfall  on  the  stairs,  or  when  he  happened  to  look 
up  at  the  table  to  find  her  regard  fixed  on  him,  there  was  no 
wild  desire  for  a  declaration  of  his  fond  hopes  and  dreams. 
Rather  he  hung  back,  as  if  something  mysteriously  sacred  snr- 


ITAITD   rAIT,  OmAIChROTIT'JV, 


151 


iow.  1  tb»nk 
t  I  have  novoT 
reat  necessity  I 
lero ;  I  do  not 
leritanco  as  the 
may  be  handed 
that  dovelrped 

that  quiver  of 

incent  was  glad 
the  situation  in 
I  was  altogether 
And  first  of  all 
1  book  as  of  ini- 
;ion  was  possible 
lame  to  consider 
ic  that  the  young 
his  heart  became 
{ing  to  help.    He 
lire  sadness  and 
ind  why  her  eyes 
igin  of  that  look 
;tting  her  grand- 
esponsibilities  of 
circumstances  in 
Bther  tragic ;  and 
efore  her,  it  was 

seal  from  himself 
it  concerned  her, 
urds  her,  this  con- 
and  night  Love 
oneliness  had  ap 
eauty  of  her  eyes, 
eart  to  leap  when 
lappened  to  look 
im,  there  was  no 
opes  and  dreams, 
iously  sacred  sur- 


rounded her.  He  had  asked  her  for  a  flower — that  was  all. 
Probably  hIio  had  forgotten.  There  seemed  no  place  for  th<> 
pretty  toyings  of  love-making  in  the  life  of  this  girl,  who  appeared 
to  have  missed  the  gayety  of  childhood,  and  perhaps  might  slip 
on  into  middle  ago  hardly  knowing  what  youth  had  been.  And 
yet  what  a  rose  was  ready  to  blow  there,  he  said  to  himself,  if 
only  sunshine  and  sweet  rains  and  soft  airs  were  propitious  t  k 
was  the  wide  white  days  of  June  that  were  wanted  for  her,  before 
the  weeks  and  the  months  went  by,  and  darksMS  and  the  winter 


came. 


/  .I:'- 


No ;  he  did  not  speak.  Perhaps  he  was  Taguety  aware  that 
any  abrupt  disclosure  on  his  part  might  startle  her  into  maiden 
reserve;  whereas  in  their  present  relations  there  existed  the 
frankest  confidence.  She  mad')  no  secret  of  the  subdued  and 
bappy  content  she  experienced  in  this  constant  companionship ; 
her  eyes  lit  up  when  he  approached ;  oftentimes  she  called  him 
Vincent  without  seeming  to  notice  it.  She  had  given  him  a 
flower  I  Yes,  as  she  would  have  given  him  a  handful  at  any  or 
every  hour  of  the  day  if  she  fancied  it  would  pleatie  him,  and 
without  ulterior  thought  They  were  almost  as  boy  and  girl  to- 
gether in  this  daily  intercourse — this  open  and  avowed  comrade- 
ship— this  easy  and  unrestricted  familiarity.  But  sometimes 
Vincent  looked  ahead  with  dim  forebodings.  He  had  not  for- 
gotten the  murmur  of  .that  wide  sea  of  separation  that  he  had 
beheld  as  it  were  in  a  vision ;  the  sound  of  it — faint  and  sad 
and  ominous — still  lingered  in  his  ears. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  darker  moments  that  he  resolved,  at 
whatever  risk,  to  acquaint  old  George  Betbuno  with  something 
of  his  irresolute  hopes  and  fears.  The  opportunity  arrived  quite 
unexpectedly.  One  morning  he  was  as  usual  on  his  way  to  his 
lodgings,  when,  at  the  corner  of  Upper  Orosvenor  Street,  he  met 
Mr.  Bcthune  coming  into  Park  Lane  alone. 

"  Maisrie  is  well  ?"  Vincent  asked,  in  sudden  alarm,  for  it  was 
the  rarest  thing  in  the  world  to  find  grandfather  and  grand- 
daughter iieparatcd. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  the  old  man  said.  "  She  has  some  household 
matters  to  attend  to — dressmaking,  I  think.  Poor  lass  I  she  has 
to  be  economical ;  indeed,  I  think  she  carries  it  to  an  extreme ; 
but  it's  no  use  arguing  with  Maisrie — I  let  her  have  her  own 
way." 


109 


•TAVD  VAST,  OBAtO-10T»TOin 


"  I  w«Dte<i  to  spMk  to  yon  about  her,"  Vincent  mUI,  and  he 
turned  and  WRlked  with  thg  old  man  acroaa  the  Mreot  into  Hyde 
Park.  "  I  hK"c  often  wished  to  Hpoak  to  yon,  and — and  of  ooune 
there  waa  no  chance  when  she  heraolf  waa  proaent — " 

Ho  hesitated,  casting  about  for  a  beginning;  then  ho  pulled 
himself  together,  and  boldly  flung  himself  into  it. 

"I  hope  you  won't  take  it  for  importinonco,'  aaid  he.  '*I 
don*t  moan  it  that  way — very  different  from  that  But  yon 
yourself,  sir,  you  may  remember,  you  spoke  to  roe  about  Maisrie 
when  wo  were  down  at  Henley  together — about  what  her  future 
might  be,  if  anything  happened  to  you,  and  you  aeenaed  con- 
cerned. Well,  it  is  cHuy  to  understand  how  you  should  be 
troubled.  It  is  terrible  to  think  of  a  young  girl  like  that — so 
sensitive,  too — being  alone  in  the  world,  and  not  over  well-pro- 
rided  for,  as  you  have  hinted  to  me.  It  would  bo  so  strange 
and  unusual  a  position  for  a  young  girl  to  be  in,  without  rela- 
tions, without  friends,  and  having  no  one  to  "dvise  her  or  protect 
her  in  any  way.  Of  course  you  will  say  it  is  none  of  my  busi- 
ness  "        Ml,  -Sf  ', 

"  But  you  would  like  to  have  it  made  3;  our  buBine88,'*8Hid  old 
Ooorge  Bethune,  with  a  bland  and  good-natured  frankness  that 
considerably  astounded  his  stammering  companion.  "  My  dear 
young  friend,  I  know  perfectly  what  you  would  say.  Do  you 
think  I  have  been  blind  to  the  friendly  and  even  affectionate  re- 
gard yon  have  shown  towards  my  granddaughter  all  this  while  t 
or  to  the  pleasure  she  has  enjoyed  in  having  yor  take  part  in 
our  small  amusements!  No,  I  have  not  been  blind.  I  have 
looked  on  and  approved.  It  has  been  an  added  interest  to  our 
lives ;  between  you  and  her  I  have  observed  the  natural  sym- 
pathy of  similar  ago,  and  I  have  been  glad  to  see  her  enjoying 
the  society  of  one  nearer  her  own  years.  But  now — now,  if  I 
guess  arig  .),  you  wish  for  some  more  definite  tie." 

<<  Would  it  i>ot  be  bettor  f"  the  yoi<ng  man  said,  breathlessly ; 
'*  if  there  were  some  clear  understanding,  would  not  a  great  deal 
of  the  uncertainty  with  regard  to  the  future  be  removed  f  You 
see,  Mr.  Bethune,  I  haven't  spoken  a  word  to  Maisrie  —  not  a 
word.  I  have  been  afraid.  Perhaps  I  have  been  mistaken  in 
imagining  that  fihe  might  in  time — in  time — be  inclined  to  lis- 
lea  to  108—" 


«■ 


aTARD  PAiT,  o«Aio->orno«  I 


in 


tnt  mU,  and  h« 
treot  into  Hyde 
i^«nd  of  course 
>t— " 
then  ho  pulled 

t. 

!,•  aaid  he.    "I 
that     But  you 
ae  about  Mainie 
what  her  future 
^ou  aeemed  con- 
yon  should  be 
;irl  Uko  that— BO 
lot  over  well-pro- 
ild  bo  BO  strange 
1  in,  withont  rel»- 
ise  her  or  protect 
none  of  my  busi- 

jusiness,"  said  old 
ed  frankness  that 
nion.     "  My  dear 
aid  say.     Do  you 
en  affectionate  re- 
tcr  all  this  while  f 
yor  take  part  in 
sn  blind.     I  have 
ed  interest  to  our 
the  natural  sym- 
see  her  enjoying 
at  now — now,  if  1 
tie." 

said,  breathlessly ; 

d  not  a  great  deal 

>e  removed  f    You 

o  Maisrie  —  not  a 

been  mintakcn  in 

)e  inclined  to  lis- 


He  stopped ;  then  he  proceeded  more  slowly,  and  it  might 
liATo  been  noticed  that  hij  chook  was  a  little  paler  than  usual. 
••  Yes,  it  may  b«  as  you  say.  Perhaps  it  is  only  that  she  likes 
the  companionship  of  one  of  her  own  «go.  That,  is  natural. 
And,  then,  she  is  very  kind  and  generous  —  I  may  have  been 
mistaken  in  thinking  there  was  a  possibility  of  something 
more." 

lie  was  silent  now  and  abstracted.  As  ho  walked  on  ho  saw 
nothing  of  what  was  around  him. 

•'  Come,  come,  my  friend  1"  Oeorge  Bethune  exclaimed,  with 
much  benignity.  "Do  not  vex  yourself  with  useless  specula- 
tions ;  you  are  looking  too  far  ahead  ;  you  and  she  are  both  too 
young  to  burden  yourselves  with  grave  reRponsibilities.  A  boy- 
ish and  girlish  attachment  is  a  very  pretty  and  engaging  thing, 
but  it  must  not  be  taken  too  seriously — " 

And  hero  for  a  second  a  flash  of  resentment  fired  through 
Vincent's  heart  Was  it  well  for  this  old  man  to  speak  so  pa- 
troniiingly  of  Maisrie  as  but  a  child,  when  it  was  ho  himself 
who  had  thrust  upon  her  more  than  the  responsi  itios  and  anx- 
ieties of  a  grown  wuman  t 

"Take  things  as  they  are  1  Do  you  consider  that  you  have 
much  cause  to  complain,  either  the  one  or  the  other  of  you  t" 
old  Oeorge  Uothune  resumed  in  a  still  lighter  strain.  "  You 
have  youth  and  strength,  good  health,  and  a  constant  interest  in 
the  life  going  on  around  yon ;  is  not  that  sufBcient  ?  Why,  here 
am  I,  nearing  my  threescore  years  and  ten,  and  every  morning 
that  I  awake  I  know  that  there  lies  before  me  another  beautiful, 
interesting,  satisfactory  day  that  I  am  detormined  to  enjoy  to  the 
very  utmost  of  my  power.  To-morrow  I  to-morrow  never  yet 
belonged  to  anybody,  never  was  of  any  use  to  anybody.  Give 
me  to-day,  and  I  am  content  to  let  to-morrow  shift  for  itself  I 
Yes,"  he  continued,  in  firm  and  proud  and  almost  joyous  ac- 
cents, and  he  held  his  head  erect,  "  you  may  have  caught  me 
in  some  ungnarded  moment,  some  moment  of  nervous  weakness 
or  depression,  beginning  to  inquire  too  curiously  into  the 
future,  but  that  was  a  transient  folly.  I  thank  God  that  it 
is  not  my  habitual  mood !  Repining,  complaining,  anticipat- 
ing, what  good  do  you  get  from  that!  Surely  I  have  had 
as  ;  ach  reason  to  repine  and  complain  as  most,  but  I  do 


s. 


fV   ' 


I 


I 


164 


STAND   FAST,  OBAIO-ROTBTONI 


not  waste  my  breath  in  remonstrating  with '  fickle  Fortune.' 
•Fickle  Fortune r"  he  exclaimed  in  his  scorn;  "if  the  ill- 
favored  jade  were  to  come  near  me  I  woold  give  her  a  wallop 
across  the  buttocks  with  my  stafi,  and  bid  her  get  oat  of  my 
road!  'Fickie  Fortune!'  she  may  'perplex  the  poor  sons 
of  a  day,'  but  she  shall  never  perplex  me,  by  God  and  Saint 
iiinganl"  ?:'. 

He  laughed  aloud  in  his  pride. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  suddenly  changing  into  quite  another  vein, 
"  have  you  not  yet  come  to  know  that  the  one  priceless  thing  to 
think  of  in  tlie  world — the  one  extraordinary  thing — is  that  at 
this  precise  moment  you  can  see  ?  For  millions  and  millions  of 
years  these  skies  have  been  shining,  and  ths  clouds  moving,  and 
the  seas  running  blue  all  round  the  shores,  and  you  were  dead 
aud  blind  to  them,  unknowing  and  unknown.  Generation  after 
generation  of  men,  thousands  and  thousands  of  them,  were  look- 
ing at  these  things.  They  knew  the  hills  and  the  clouds  and 
the  fields,  the  world  existed  for  them,  bat  you  conld  see  nothing ; 
yon  were  as  if  lying  dead.  Then  comes  your  brief  instant ;  it 
is  your  turn.  Your  eyes  are  opened,  and  for  a  little  while,  a 
passing  second,  the  universe  is  revealed  to  yon.  Don't  you  per- 
ceive that  the  marvellous  thing  is  that  out  of  the  vast  millions  of 
ages  it  should  be  this  one  particular  moment,  this  present  mo- 
ment, that  happens  trO  be  given  to  you?  And  instead  of  receiv- 
ing it  with  amazement  aud  wonder  and  joy,  why,  you  must 
begin  to  fret  and  worry  and  lay  schemes,  as  if  you  were  un- 
aware that  the  gates  of  the  empty  halls  of  Flnto  were  waiting 
to  engulf  you  and  shut  you  up  once  more  in  darkness  and  blind- 
ness. Look  at  those  elm-trees,  at  the  water  down  there,  at  the 
moving  clouds ;  isn''t  it  wonderful  to  think  that  in  the  immewur- 
able  life  of  the  wodu  this  should  happen  to  be  the  one  moment 
when  these  things  are  made  visible  to  you  ?" 

Vincent  perceived  in  a  kind  of  way  what  the  old  man  meant ; 
but  he  did  not  understand  why  this  should  make  him  lees  con- 
cerned about  Maisrie's  position,  or  less  eagerly  covetous  of  win- 
ning her  tender  regard. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  old  Geoi^e  Bethune,  "  perhaps  it  is  but 
natural  that  youth  should  be  impatient ;  while  old  age  may  well 
be  content  with  such  snudl  and  placid  comforts  as  may  be  met 


-*■'/,.'■:/..,/• 


ms&,:^4M^MMmiS^0^ 


■da^ 


ITilliriiinfrltll  tfwiii^idiiOTliBS 


STAKD   FAST,  ORAICHROTSTONI 


165 


I 


kle  Fortonc' 
"if  the  iU- 
her  a  wallop 
et  out  of  my 
le  poor  sons 
od  and  Saiot 


another  vein, 
celess  thing  to 
Qg_iB  that  at 
ind  millions  of 
ifl  moving,  and 
you  vrere  dead 
«neration  after 
lem,  were  look- 
the  clouds  and 
Id  see  nothing ; 
rief  instant;  it 
I  little  while,  a 

DonH  you  per- 

vast  milliono  of 
his  present  mo- 
istead  of  receiv- 
hy,  you  must 
if  you  were  un- 
|to  were  waiting 

:nes8  and  blind- 
n  there,  at  the 
the  immeasur- 

|,he  one  moment 

)ld  man  meant ; 
[e  him  less  con- 
lovetous  of  win- 

Lrhaps  it  is  but 

fid  age  may  well 

as  may  be  mot 


with.  I  should  have  thought  that  there  was  not  much  to  com- 
plain of  in  our  present  manner  of  life — if  you  will  allow  me 
to  include  you  in  our  tiny  microcosm.  It  is  not  exciting ;  it  is 
simple  and  wholesome;  and  I  hope  not  altogether  base  and 
gross.  And  as  regards  Maisrie,  surely  you  and  she  have  enough 
of  each  other's  society  even  as  matters  stand.  Let  well  alone, 
my  young  friend;  let  well  alone;  that  is  my  advice  to  you. 
And  I  may  say  there  are  especial  and  important  reasons  why 
I  should  not  wish  her  to  be  bound  by  any  pledge.  Yon  know 
that  I  do  not  care  to  waste  much  thought  on  what  may  lie 
ahead  of  us ;  but  still,  at  the  same  time,  there  might  at  any 
moment  happen  certain  things  which  would  make  a  great  dif- 
ference in  Maisrie^s  circumstances — " 

Vincent  had  been  listening  in  a  kind  cf  absent  and  hopeless 
way ;  but  these  few  words  instantly  aroused  his  attention :  per- 
haps this  was  the  real  reason  why  the  old  man  wished  Maisrie  to 
remain  free ! 

"  A  great  and  marvellous  change,  indeed,"  he  continued,  with 
some  increase  of  dignity  in  his  manner  and  in  his  mode  of 
speech.  "A  change  that  would  affect  me  also,  though  that 
would  be  of  little  avail  now.  But  as  regards  my  granddaughter, 
she  might  l>e  called  upon  to  fill  a  position  very  different  from 
that  she  occupies  at  present ;  and  I  should  not  wish  her  to  be 
hampered  by  anything  pertaining  to  her  former  manner  of  life. 
Not  that  she  would  ever  prove  forgetful  of  past  kindness—that 
is  not  in  her  nature ;  but  in  these  new  circumstances  she  might 
find  herself  confronted  by  other  duties.  Enough  said,  I  hope, 
on  that  point  And  well  I  know,"  he  added,  with  something  of 
a  grand  air,  "  that  in  whatever  sphere  Maisrie  Bethune  may  be 
placed,  she  will  act  worthily  of  her  name  and  of  the  obligations 
it  entails." 

He  suddenly  paused.  There  was  a  pooriy-«lad  woman  going 
by,  carrying  in  one  arm  a  baby,  while  with  the  other  hand  she 
half  dragged  along  a  small  boy  of  five  or  six.  She  did  not  look 
like  a  professional  London  beggar,  nor  yet  like  a  country  tramp ; 
but  of  her  extreme  wretchedness  there  could  be  no  doubt,  while 
there  vtas  a  pinched  look  as  of  hunger  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Wait  a  bit ;  where  are  you  going  i"  old  Qeorge  Bethune  said 
to  her,,  in  blunt  and  ready  fashion.  ■;*  ;  .  '"'" 


>«pntiHMnH|MMnMiWiB 


iV 


tM 


BTAHO   FAST,  CRAIO-ROTSTOin 


The  woman  turned  round,  startled  and  afraid. 
tfy    .  "  I  am  making  for  home,  sir,"  she  said,  timidly. 

"  Where's  that  ?"  he  demanded. 

"  Out  Watford  way,  sir.    Abbot's  Langley  it  is." 

"  Where  have  you  come  from !" 

"  From  Leatherhcad,  sir." 
-Tj    ^,     >  "  On  foot  all  the  way  I" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  bit  of  a  sigh.  .  '■ 

"  And  with  very  little  food,  I  warrant  f"  said  he. 

"  Little,  indeed,  sir."  -   • 

"  Have  you  any  money  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  matter  of  a  few  coppers  left.  I  gava  what  I  had 
to  my  old  mother.  She  thought  she  was  dying,  and  sent  for  me 
to  bring  the  two  little  boys  to  see  her ;  but  she's  better,  sir,  and 
now  I'm  making  for  home  again." 

"Oh,  you  gave  what  you  had  to  your  mother?  Well," 
said  he  deliberately,  "  I  don't  know  whether  what  I  have  will 
amount  to  as  much,  but  whatever  it  is  you  are  welcome 
to  it." 

He  dived  into  his  trousers  pockets  and  eventually  produced 
about  half  a  handful  of  shillings  and  pence ;  then  he  searched  a 
small  waistcoat  pocket  and  brought  forth  two  sovereigns.  It  was 
all  his  wealth. 

"Here,  take  that,  and  in  God's  name  get  yourself  some 
food,  woman  1"  said  he,  unconsciously  lapsing  into  a  pronounced 
Scotch  accent  "  You  look  starved.  And  this  bit  of  a  lad- 
die, here,  buy  him  some  gweet  thing  as  well  as  bread-and-buttor 
when  you  get  up  to  the  shops.  And  then  when  you're  out- 
side the  town  you'll  ju»t  give  some  honest  fellow  a  shilling, 
(      M  and  you'll  get  a  cant  of  au  empty  cart  to  help  you  on  your 

road.  Well,  good-day  to  ye.  No,  no,  take  what  there  is,  I 
tell  ye,  woman  I  Bless  me  I  you'll  need  most  of  it  before  you 
get  to  your  own  fireside.  On  your  ways,  now  1  and  when  you 
reach  the  shops,  don't  forget  the  barley-sugar  for  this  young 
shaver." 

So  he  turned  away,  leaving  the  poor  woman  so  overwhelmed 
that  she  had  hardly  a  word  of  thanks ;  and  when  he  had  gone 
for  some  little  distance  all  he  said  was,  with  something  of  a  rue- 
ful laugh,  ^^^^ 


2:'j'^p1BWt'!**»«** 


ij|gw>W«»iiiilpll'iiilrlilllli|illl|iaiiM'i»lt»MwS*L»iitltlii|rWtoiliih>».. 


ia." 


be. 


[  gave  what  I  bad 
g,  and  sent  for  me 
ie'8  better,  sir,  and 

motber!     Well," 

r  what  I  bave  wUl 

you  are  welcome 


ventually  produced 
then  be  searched  a 
>B0vereign8-  It  was 

get  yourself   some 
into  a  pronouncod 
this  bit  of  a  lad- 
aa  bread-aud-huttor 
.  when  you're  out- 
it  fellow  a  shilling, 
help  you  on  your 
J  what  there  is,  I 
j8i  of  it  before  you 
iowl  and  when  yon 
|,gar  for  this  young 

aan  so  ovesrwhelroed 
,  when  he  had  gone 
.aometbicgofaruc- 


BTA^D   FAST,  OKAIO-ROTBTOll  I 


157 


'<  There  went  my  luncheon,  for  I  promised  Maisrie  I  should 
not  return  home  till  near  dinner-time." 

"  And  you  have  left  yourself  without  a  farthing?"  the  young 
roan  excldmed.  "  Well,  that's  all  right — I  c(iQ  lend  you  a  few 
sovereigns." 

"  No,  no,"  said  old  George  Bethune  with  a  smile,  and  he  held 
up  his  hand  in  deprecation.  "  I  am  well  pleased  now ;  and  if  I 
should  suffer  any  pangs  of  starvation  during  the  day  I  shall  be 
glad  to  think  that  I  can  endure  them  better  than  that  poor  creat- 
ure with  the  long  tramp  before  her.  To-night,"  said  he,  rubbing 
his  palms  together  with  much  satisfaction,  <'  to-night,  when  wo 
meet  at  Mentavisti's,  I  shall  be  all  the  hungrier  and  all  the  hap- 
pier. Ah  I  must  you  go  now!  —  good-by,  then.  We  shall  see 
you  at  half-past  six,  I  suppose ;  and  meantime,  my  friend,  dis- 
miss from  your  mind  those  cares  and  anxious  thoughts  about 
the  future.     •  To  the  gods  belongs  to-morrow !' " 

Now  this  little  incident  that  had  just  happened  in  Hyde  Park 
comforted  Vincent  exceedingly.  Here  was  something  definite  that 
he  could  proudly  set  against  the  vague  and  unworthy  suspicions 
of  Mrs.  Ellison.  Surely  the  man  was  no  plausible  impostor,  no 
charlatan,  no  crafty  schemer,  who  could  so  readily  empty  his 
pockets,  and  look  forward  to  a  day's  starvation,  in  order  to 
help  a  poor  and  unknown  vagrant  woman  ?  No  doubt  it  was  but 
part  and  parcel  of  his  habitual  nnd  courageous  disregard  of  con- 
sequences, his  yielding  to  the  generous  impulse  of  the  moment ; 
but,  if  the  truth  must  be  told.  Master  Vin  was  at  times  almost 
inclined  to  envy  old  Qeorge  Bethune  his  splendid  audacity  and 
self-confidence.  Why  should  the  younger  man  be  the  one  to 
take  forethought  for  the  morrow,  while  the  venerable  graybeard 
was  gay  as  a  lark,  delighted  with  the  present  hoar,  and  defiant 
of  anytiiing  that  might  happen  ?  And  what  if  the  younger  man 
were  to  follow  the  precepts  of  the  elder,  and  lapse  into  &  care- 
less content!  Their  way  of  living,  as  George  Bethune  had 
pointed  out,  was  simple,  happy,  and  surely  harmless.  There 
were  those  three  forming  a  little  coterie  all  by  themselves,  enjoy- 
ing each  other's  society,  interested  in  each  other's  pursuits.  The 
hours  of  the  daytime  wore  devoted  to  individual  work,,  Then 
came  the  glad  reunion  of  the  evening,  and  the  sallying  forth  to 
this  or  the  other  restaurant ;  thereafter  the  little  dinner  in  the 


ft*-"**!-,.. 


1S8 


rtkMV  TABT,  ORAIO-ROTBTOH I 


corner,  with  its  glimpses  of  foveign  folk,  and  its  gay  talk  filled 
with  patriotism,  and  poetr^^,  ::\nd  reminiscences  of  other  lands ; 
finally  the  hashed  enchantment  of  that  little  parlor,  with  Maisrie 
and  her  violin,  with  dominoes,  and  discussions  literary  and  polit- 
ical, while  alw.'.ys  and  ever  there  reigned  a  perfect  frankness  and 
good-fellowship.  Yes,  it  seemed  a  happy  kind  of  existence  for 
these  three.  And  wo  not  old  George  Bethune  in  the  right  in 
thinking  that  the  you?.  /  people  should  not  hamper  themselves 
by  any  too  grave  reiponsibilities  f  A  boyish  and  girlish  attach- 
ment (as  he  deemed  it  to  be)  was  a  pretty  and  amusing  and  en- 
gaging thing,  quite  a  little  idyll,  in  fact,  but  not  to  be  taken  too 
seriously.  And  where  the  future  was  all  so  uncertain,  was  it  not 
better  to  leave  it  alone  f 

Specious  representations,  indeed  I  But  this  young  man,  who 
had  his  own  viewE  and  ways  of  thinking,  remained  stubbornly 
unconvinced.  It  was  because  the  future  was  so  vague  that  he 
wanted  it  made  more  definite ;  and  as  he  thought  of  Maisrie  and 
of  what  might  befall  her  when  she  was  alone  in  the  world,  and 
as  he  thought  of  his  own  far-reaching  resolves  and  purposes,  he 
did  not  in  the  least  consider  tha  relationship  now  existing  be- 
tween him  and  her  as  being  merely  a  pretty  little  pastoral  epi- 
sode that  would  lead  to  nothing.  No  doubt  their  present  way  of 
living  had  many  charms  and  fascinations,  if  only  it  would  last. 
But  it  would  not  last ;  it  was  impossible  it  should  last.  Looking 
back  over  these  past  months,  Vincent  was  surely  grateful  enough 
for  all  the  pleasant  and  intimate  cornpanionship  he  had  enjoyed ; 
but  his  temperament  was  not  like  that  of  George  Bethune ;  the 
passing  moment  was  not  e\  ^rything  to  him.  He'  had  an  oM 
head  on  young  shoulders ;  and  it  needed  no  profound  reflection 
to  tell  him  that  life  could  not  always  consist  of  the  Restaurant 
Mentavisti  and  "  La  Claire  Fontaine." 


h'r"     ^ .  ' 


[ay  talk  filled 
other  lands; 
,  with  Maisrie 
ary  and  polit* 
frankness  and 
existence  for  i 
a  the  right  in 
er  themselves 
girlish  attacb*;j 
nsing  and  en- 
>  be  taken  too 
ain,  was  it  not 

nng  man,  who 
led  stabbomly 
vagae  that  he 
of  Maisrie  and 
the  world,  and 
d  parposes,  he 
|w  existing  be- 
e  pastoral  epi- 
present  way  of 
r  it  would  last, 
last.   Looking 
ratefnl  enough 
B  had  enjoyed ; 
Bethune;  the 
e'  had  an  old 
lund  reflection 
ihe  Besl«urant 


■TAMD   VAST,  0RAIO-K0T8T0R I 


1S9 


;,  CHAPTER  X. 

,;  BT   HORTBKRir    BIAS. 

Here,  in  front  of  the  great,  square,  old-fashioned  Scotch  man- 
sion, whicL  was  pleasantly  lit  up  by  the  morning  sun,  stood  the 
family  wagonette,  which  had  just  been  filled  by  those  of  the 
house-party  who  were  bound  for  church,  and  here,  too,  in  the 
spacious  porch,  was  Mrs.  Ellison,  smiling  her  adieu  with  rather 
a  sad  air. 

"  Gk>od-bye,  dear,"  said  her  kindly  hostess.  "  I  hope  you  will 
have  got  rid  of  your  headache  by  the  time  we  get  back."  And 
therewith  the  carriage  was  driven  away  along  the  pebbled  path- 
way, through  an  avenue  of  magnificent  wide-spreading  elmi. 

Then  the  tall  and  graceful  youn/]r  widow,  who  carried  a  book 
in  her  hand,  glanced  around  her.  There  was  no  liv  t.  Hing  near 
except  a  white  peacock  that  was  solemnly  stall,  rig  across  the 
lawn.  Mrs.  Ellison  strolled  towards  a  hammock  Si.  .^j  .between 
two  mcples,  and  stood  there  for  a  moment  and  considered. 
Should  she  attempt  it !  There  was  no  onlooker,  supposing  some 
slight  accident  befell.  Finally,  however,  her  courage  gave  way ; 
she  returned  to  the  front  of  the  bouse,  and  took  possession  of  a 
long,  low  lounging-chair,  where  she  could  sit  in  the  sun,  and  yet 
have  the  pages  of  her  book  in  shadow. 

There  was  a  footf^l  behind -her,  and  Lord  Musselbui^h  made 
his  appearance,  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  with  a  prettily  affected  surprise,  "  haven't 
you  gone  to  church  f    I  made  sure  you  had  walked  on." 

"How  could  I  leave  you  all  by  yourself,"  said  the  yonng 
!Dan,  with  tender  sympathy,  "  and  yon  suffering  from  a  head- 
ache?" 

Then  she  professed  to  be  vexed  ttiA  impatient. 

"  Oh,  do  go  away  to  church  I"  she  said.  *'  You  can  be  in 
plenty  of  time,  if  you  walk  fast  enough.  If  you  stop  here  you 
know  what  will  go  on  at  lunch.  Thoiie  Drexcl  girls  can  look 
more  mischief  than  any  other  twenty  girls  could  say  or  do." 

"  Oh,  no,"  Baid  lie  plaintively,  "  don't  send  roe  awav  I    Let  ns 


160 


RAHD   rXBT,  Cn&ia-R0TBT01«I 


go  for  a  walk,  rather.     You  know,  a  woman's  beaduche  is  like 
her  hat — she  can  put  it  on  or  off  when  she  likes.     Oome !" 

"I  consider  you  are  very  iraperfinent,"  eaid  she,  with  some- 
thing of  offended  dignity.  "  Do  you  think  I  shammed  a  head- 
ache iu  order  to  stay  behind  t" 

"  I  don't  think  anytliing,"  said  he,  discreetly. 

"  You  will  be  saying  next  that  it  was  to  have  this  meeting  with 
your 

"Why,  who  could  dare  to  imagine  such  a  thing!" 

"  Oh,  very  well,  very  well,"  said  she,  with  a  sudden  change  to 
good-iiature,  as  she  rose  from  the  chair.  "  I  forgive  you.  And 
I  will  bo  with  you  in  a  second." 

8ho  'vas  hardly  gone  a  couple  of  minutes,  but  in  that  brief 
space  of  tim&  she  had  managed  to  make  herself  suflBciently  pict- 
tircsque ;  for  to  the  simple  and  neat  gray  costume  which  clad  her 
tall  and  slim  and  elegant  figure  she  had  added  a  bold-sweeping  hat 
of  black  velvet  and  black  feathers,  while  round  her  neck  she  had 
jvound  a  black  boa,  its  two  long  tails  depending  in  front  Thus 
there  was  no  color  about  her,  save  what  shone  in  her  perfect 
completion,  and  in  the  light  and  expression  of  her  shrewd  aai 
dangerous,  and  yet  grave  and  demnre  blue  eyes. 

"  And  really  and  frankly,"  said  she,  as  they  left  the  house  to- 
gether; "  I  am  not  dorry  to  have  a  chance  of  a  quiet  talk  with  you, 
for  I  want  to  tell  you  about  my  nephew.  I  am  sure  you  are 
almost  as  much  interested  ic  him  as  I  am,  and  you  woald  be  as 
sorry  sui  I  could  be  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  him ;  and  I 
am  afraid  something  is  going  to  happen  to  him.  His  letters  to 
me  have  entirely  changed  of  late.  You  know  how  proud  Vin  is 
by  nature — and  scornful,  too,  wheu  you  don't  act  up  to  bis  lofty 
standard ;  and  when  I  ventured  to  hint  that  be  might  keep  his 
eyes  open  in  dealing  with  that  old  mountebank  and  his  pretty 
granddaughter,  oh  1  the  t«mpestuous  indignation  of  my  young 
gentleman.  He  seemed  to  think  that  a  creature  aoch  as  I — filled 
with  such  base  suspicions — was  not  fit  to  live.  Well,  I  did 
not  quarrel  with  my  handsome  boy ;  in  fact,  I  rather  admired 
his  rage  and  disdain  of  me ;  it  was  part  of  the  singleness  of  liis 
nature,  for  he  believes  everybody  to  be  as  straightforward  and 
sincere  as  himself,  and  he  has  a  very  fine  notion  of  loyalty  tow- 
ards his  friends.  And  vindictive,  too,  the  young  villain  was. 
%  can  tell  you  I  was  made  to  feel  the  enormity  of  my  traasgrcs- 


«Mi 


RAVD   VAIT,  OBAIO-ROTtTOWl 


hea(d;jche  is  like 
s.     Come  I" 
she,  with  Bome- 
ifaammed  a  head- 


ihis  meeting  with 

ingl" 

Budden  change  to 

>igivo  you.    And 

|)nt  in  that  brief 
f  suflBciently  pict- 
me  which  clad  her 
bold-Bweeping  hat 
her  neck  she  had 
ig  in  front  Thus 
ne  in  her  perfect 
>f  her  shrewd  aal 
es. 

left  the  house  to- 
uiet  talk  with  you, 
am  Biire  you  are 
1  you  would  be  as 
len  to  him ;  And  I 
m.     His  letters  to 
low  proud  Vin  is 
act  up  to  his  lofty 
he  might  keep  his 
ink  and  his  pretty 
tion  of  my  young 
re  such  as  I — filled 
ive.     Well,  I  did 
I  rather  admired 
te  singleness  of  his 
traightforward  and 
lion  of  loyalty  tow- 
young  vUUin  was. 
y  of  my  tnuMgrcs- 


sion ;  I  was  left  to  wallow  in  thut  quagmire  of  unworthy  doubt 
in  which  I  had  voluntarily  plunged  myself.  So  matters  went  on, 
and  I  could  only  hope  for  one  of  two  things:  either  that  he 
might  find  out  something  about  those  people  that  would  sever 
his  connection  with  them,  or  tliat  his  passing  fancy  for  the  girl 
would  gradually  fade  away.  I  made  sure  ho  would  tire  of  that 
oraculnr  old  humbug,  or  else  he  would  discover  there  was  nothing 
at  all  behind  the  mysterious  eyes  and  the  tragic  solemnity  of 
that  artful  young  madam.  Oh,  mind  you,"  she  continued,  as 
tboy  walked  along  under  the  ovcrbranching  maples,  amid  a  ru«tle 
of  withered  October  leaves — "  mind  you,  I  don't  suspect  her  quite 
as  much  as  I  suspect  the  venerable  Druid,  ai  l  I  don't  recall  any- 
thing that  I  said  t^^out  her.  I  admit  that  »he  b^glamoured  mo 
with  her  singing  of  a  rrench-Canadian  song ;  but  what  is  that } 
What  can  you  teli  of  any  one's  moral  or  mental  nature  from  a 
trick  of  singing,  the  thrill  of  a  note,  some  peculiar  quality  of 
voice!  Why,  tbe  greatest  wretch  of  a  man  I  ever  knew  had 
the  most  beautiful,  inpocent,  honest  brown  eyes ;  they  could 
make  yon  believe  anything ;  all  the  women  said  he  was  so  good, 
and  so  different  from  other  men.  Well,  I  will  tell  you  that  story 
some  other  time ;  I  found  out  what  the  honesty  of  tht;  clear 
brown  eyes  was  worth." 

Here  she  was  interrupted  by  his  having  to  open  an  iron  gate 
for  her.  When  they  passed  through  they  came  in  sight  of  a 
solitary  little  bay  of  cream-white  sand,  touched  here  and  there 
with  russet  weed- and  ending  in  a  series  of  projecting  rocky 
knolls  covered  with  golden  bracken,  while  before  them  iay  the 
wide  plain  of  the  sea,  ruflied  into  the  inteusest  blue  by  a  brisk 
breeze  from  the  north.  Still  farther  away  rone  the  great  moun- 
tains of  Mull,  and  the  long  stretch  of  the  Morven  hills,  all  of  a 
faint,  ethereal  crimson  brown  iu  the  sunlight,  with  very  glen 
and  watercourse  traced  \^  lines  of  purest  ultramarine.  They 
had  all  this  shining  world  to  themselves ;  and  there  war^  an  ab- 
solute silence  save  for  the  continuous  whisper  of  the  ripples 
that  broke  along  the  rocks ;  while  the  indescribable  mnrmur— 
the  strange,  inarticulate  voice»— of  the  greater  deep  beyond 
seemed  to  fill  ail  the  listening  ai?. 

"And  I  might  have  known  I  was  mistaken  in  Yin's  case," 
she  went  on,  absently.  "  He  was  never  the  one  to  be  canght 
by  a  pretty  face,  and  be  charmed  with  it  for  a  time,  and  pass 
11 


16f 


■TAITD   FAST,  ORAia-BOTST<lVI 


li^'i  on  and  forget.  lie  always  kept  aloof  from  that  kind  of  thing — 
perhaps  with  a  touch  of  impatient  acorn.  No,  I  might  have 
known  it  was  something  more  serious ;  so  serious,  indeed,  is  it 
that  he  has  at  last  condescended  to  appeal  to  mo.  Fancy  (hat  I 
fancy  Yin  coming  down  from  his  high  hors'*  and  appealing  to 
i^e  to  be  reasonable,  to  ba  considerate,  and  v.  atand  his  friend  1 
And  the  pages  he  writes  to  persuade  nio  I  Really,  if  yon  were 
to  believe  him,  you  would  think  this  old  man  one  of  the  most 
striking  and  interesting  figures  the  world  has  over  seeu — so 
fearless  in  his  pride,  fo  patient  in  his  poverty,  so  stout-hearted 
in  his  old  ago.  Then  his  splendid  enthusiasm  about  fine  things 
in  literature ;  his  magnanimity  over  the  wrongs  he  has  snffered ; 
his  pathetic  affection  for  ^is  granddaughter  and  his  tender 
care  of  her — why,  you  would  take  him  to  be  one  of  the  grand- 
est human  creatures  that  ever  breathed  tho  breath  of  life  I  Then 
about  the  girl :  don't  I  remember  "  La  Claire  Fontaine  f '  Oh,  yes, 
I  remember  **  ^j8  Claire  Fontaine,"  and  little  ilso  I  You  see,  that 
ia  just  where  the  trouble  comes  in  as  regards  my  nephew.  Hard- 
headed  as  he  is,  and  brusque  of  speech — sometimes,  not  always— 
be  is  just  stuffed  full  of  quixotism ;  and  I  dare  say  it  is  pre- 
cisely because  this  girl  is  shy  and  reserved,  and  has  rather  ap- 
pealing eyes,  that  he  imagines  all  kinds  of  wonderful  things 
about  her,  and  has  made  a  saint  of  her,  to  be  worshipped.  A 
merry  lass,  with  a  saucy  look  and  a  clever  tongue,  would  have 
no  chance  with  Yin ;  ho  would  store  at  her,  perhaps  only  half 
disguising  his  contempt ;  and  then,  if  you  asked  him  what  he 
thout^'ht  of  her,  he  would  probably  say,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip, 
'  Impertinent  tomboy  1'  But  when  he  comes  to  speak  of  this 
one — why,  you  would  think  that  all  womanhood  bad  under- 
gone some  process  of  deification  in  her  solitary  self.  '  Come 
here,  and  by  this  divine  lamp  yon  shall  read  and  understand 
whatever  has  been  great  and  noble  and  pare  and  beautiful  in 
all  the  song  and  story  of  the  world !'  And  yet,  perhaps,  it  is 
not  altogethe?  absurd,"  the  pretty  Mrs.  Ellison  continued,  with 
a  bit  of  a  sigh.  "  It  is  pathetic,  rather.  I  wish  there  were 
a  few  more  such  men  as  that ;  the  world  could  get  on  very 
well  with  a  few  more  of  them.  Bat  they  don't  seem  to  exist 
nowadays." 

"  Ah,  if  yon  only  knew  I    Perhaps  your  experience  has  been 
unfortunate,"  her  companion  said,  wistfully ;   whereupon  tb0 


•TAHD   VAIIT,  ORAIO-BOTBTOiri 


m 


jd  of  thing— 
[  might  hare 
,  indeed,  is  it 
Fancy  Uiat ! 
[  appealing  to 
id  his  friend  1 
f,  if  you  were 
e  of  the  moat 
Dver  seeii — so 
I  Btout-hearted 
out  fine  things 
e  has  snfferod ; 
ad  his  tender 
(  of  the  grand- 
oflifel  Then 
ineJ"   Oh,  yes, 
!  You  see,  that 
lephew.   Hard- 
B,  not  always — 
5  say  it  is  pre- 
has  rather  ap- 
>nderful  things 
orshippod.     A 
le,  would  have 
rhaps  only  half 
d  him  what  he 
[curl  of  the  lip, 
speak  of  this 
lod  had  under- 
self.     'Come 
land  understand 
ind  beautiful  in 
It,  perhaps,  it  is 
continued,  with 
ish  there  were 
[id  get  on  very 
't  seem  to  exist 

krience  has  been 
whereupon  the 


young  widow,  without  turning  her  head  towards  him,  percepti- 
bly sniggered. 

"  Oh,  you  r*  she  exclaimed  in  derision.  "  You — you  needn't 
pretend  to  comb  into  that  exalted  category — no,  indeed — " 

"  I  suppose  people  have  been  saying  things  about  me  to  yon," 
said  he,  with  a  certain  affectation  of  being  hurt.  "  But  you 
needn't  have  believed  them  all  the  same." 

"  People  I"  she  said.  "  People  I  Why,  everybody  knowi 
what  you  are!  A  professional  breaker  of  poor  young  inno- 
cent girl's  hearts.  Haven't  we  all  hoard  of  you  f  Haven't  we 
itll  heard  how  you  went  on  in  America!  No  such  stories  came 
home  about  Yin,  I  can  assure  you.  Oh,  wo  all  know  what  you 
are  I" 

'*  You  may  have  heard  one  story,"  said  he,  somewhat  otiflSy ; 
"  but  if  you  knew  what  it  really  was  you  would  see  that  it  was 
nothing  to  joke  about  Somo  time  I  will  tell  you.  Some  other 
time  when  you  are  in  a  more  friendly,  a  more  believing  and 
sympathetic  mood." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  laughing — "a  very  heartrending  story, 
no  doubt  I  And  you  were  deeply  injured,  of  course,  being  so 
extremely  innocent  I  You  forg^et  that  I  have  seen  you  in  a  good 
many  houses ;  you  forget  that  I  have  been  watching  your  goings- 
on  with  Louie  Drexel,  in  this  very  place.  Do  you  think  I  can't 
recognize  the  old  hand — the  expert — the  artist!  Lord  Mussel- 
burgh, you  cau't  deceive  me  I" 

"  Probably  not,"  said  ho,  sharply.  "  If  all  tales  be  true,  you 
have  acquired  somo  experience  yourself." 

"  Oh,  who  said  that  about  me !"  she  demanded  with  indig- 
nation (but  her  eyes  were  not  indignant ;  they  were  rather  dark- 
ly amused,  if  only  he  had  made  bold  to  look  at  them).  "  Who 
dared  to  say  .> ach  a  thing !  And  of  course  you  listened  without 
a  word  of  protest  I  Probably  you  assented.  What  it  is  to  have 
friends  I  But  perhaps  some  day  I  also  may  have  a  little  story 
to  tell  you ;  and  then  you  may  understand  me  a  little  better." 

Here  there  was  another  farm-gate  for  him  to  open,  so  that 
their  talk  was  again  interrupted.  Then  they  passed  under  a 
series  of  lofty  gray  crags  hung  with  birch  and  hazel  and  rowan, 
all  in  their  gorgeous  autumnal  tints,  until  they  came  in  sight  of 
another  secluded  little  bay,  with  silver  ripples  breaking  along 
the  sand,  and  with  small  outlying  islands  covered  with  orange 


mst 


i 


:^^^^msii^^^i'i'^^^^'^^'^''''*''^'''^*"' 


W^'W 


o 


/ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


2.5 


I.I 


IM 
i^ 


12.2 
2.0 

1.8 


1.25 


U    11.6 


Photographic 

Science? 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


v»>f,j'<'V')m>!!mi<H'-Mmw^'i^v-m';?'-'. 


d 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICIVIH 

de 


m 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


K 


.v.»»*a**is^*Wi»«ae*iii(<Ssste'4*i»^^^ 


164 


8TAMD   FAST,  0BAIO-R0T8TO>  I 


seaweed  where  tfaey  were  not  white  with  galls.  And  here  was 
a  further  stretch  of  that  wind-swept,  dark -blue,  striated  sea, 
with  the  lonely  hills  of  Murven  and  Kingairloch,  ann-dappled 
and  cloud-dappled,  rising  into  the  fair  turquoise  sky.  There 
was  a  scent  of  dew-wet  grass  mingling  with  the  stronger  odor 
of  the  seaweed;  the  breeze  was  blowing  freshly  in.  And  al- 
ways there  came  to  thorn  the  long,  unceasing,  multitudinous 
murmur  of  those  moving  waters  that  must  have  sounded  to  them 
so  great  and  vast  a  thing  beside  the  small  trivialities  of  their 
human  speech. 

"  Have  you  read  Yin's  article  in  the  Imperial  Jievieie  f"  asked 
Mrs.  Ellison,  flicking  at  a  thistle  with  her  sunshade. 

"  Not  yet ;  but  I  saw  it  announced.  About  American  state 
legislatures,  isn't  it,  or  something  of  that  kind  ?" 

"  It  seemed  to  me  very  ably  and  clearly  written,"  she  said. 
"  But  that  is  not  the  point.  I  gather  that  Yin  has  been  con- 
templating all  kinds  of  contingencies,  and  that  he  is  now  trying 
to  qualify  for  the  post  of  leader-writer  on  one  of  the  daily 
newspapers.  What  does  that  mean  ?  It  means  that  he  is  -de- 
termined to  marry  this  girl,  and  that  he  thinks  it  probable 
there  may  be  a  break  between  himself  and  bis  father  in  con- 
sequence. There  may  be  ? — there  will  be,  I  give  you  my  word ! 
My  amiable  brother-in-law's  theories  of  Socialism  and  Frater- 
nity and  Universal  Equality  are  very  pretty  toys  to  play  with, 
and  they  have  even  gained  him  a  sort  of  reputation  through 
his  letters  to  the  Timet,  but  he  doesn't  bring  them  into  the 
sphere  of  actual  life.  Of  course  Yin  has  his  own  little  moB^y, 
and  I,  for  one,  why,  I  shouldn't  see  him  starve  in  any  case ; 
but  I  take  it  that  ho  if  already  making  provision  for  the 
future  and  its  responsibilities.  Now  isn't  that  dreadful?  I 
declare  to  you,  Lord  Musselburgh,  that  when  I  come  down  in 
the  morning  and  find  a  letter  from  him  lying  on  the  hall-table, 
my  heart  sinks,  just  as  if  I  heard  the  men  on  the  stairs 
bringing  down  a  coffin.  Because  I  know  if  he  is  captured  by 
those  penniless  adventurers  it  will  be  all  over  with  my  poor 
lad:  he  will  be  bound  to  them,  he  will  have  to  support 
them,  he  will  have  to  sacrifice  friends  and  fortune,  and  a  fu- 
ture surely  such  as  never  yet  lay  before  any  young  man.  Just 
think  of  it!  Who  ever  had  such  possibilities  before  him! 
Who  ever  had  so  many  friends  all  expecting  great  things  of 


i,^'ii^„La^j 'I  rj'ri'SiyiS- 


ZSi^ 


^'j*a---S-'-'^* 


BTAITD   VAST,  OBAia-BOTSTORI 


160 


And  'here  was 
le,  Btriated  sea, 
•ch,  aim-dappled 
ise  sky.  There 
le  stronger  odor 
ily  in.  And  al- 
;,  multitudinous 
sounded  to  them 
vialities  of  their 

IBeviewr  asked 

]ade. 

t  American  state 

rritten,"  she  swd. 
in  has  been  con- 
,  he  is  now  trying 
one  of  the  d^ly 
ins  that  he  is  -de- 
hinks  it  probable 
Ma  father  in  con- 
ive  you  my  word ! 
alism  and  Frater- 
lOys  to  play  with, 
epuUtion  through 
ng  them  into  the 
own  little  monuy, 
arve  in  any  case ; 
provision  for  the 
that  dreadful!     I 
I  come  down  in 
on  the  hall-table, 
ken  on   the   stairs 
le  is  captured  by 
ver  with  my  poor 
have  to  support 
ortune,  and  a  f  u- 
roung  man.    Just 
lities  before  him! 
g  great  things  of 


him !  Who  ever  was  so  petted  and  caressed  and  admired  by 
those  whose  slightest  regard  is  considered  by  thr.  world  at  large 
an  honor !  and,  I  will  say  this  for  my  boy,  who  ever  deserved 
it  more,  or  remained  all  through  it  so  unspoiled,  so  simple,  and 
manly !  Oh,  you  do  n't  know  what  he  has  been  to  me,  what  I 
have  hoped  for  him  as  if  he  were  my  only  brother,  and  one  to 
be  proud  of  I  His  father  is  well  known,  no  doubt — ^he  has  got 
a  sort  of  academic  reputation,  but  he  is  not  liked,  people  don't 
talk  about  him  as  if — as  if  they  cared  for  him.  But  Vincent 
could  win  hearts  as  well  as  fame — ^ab,  do  you  think  I  don't 
know !  Trust  a  woman  to  know  1  There  is  a  strange  kind  of 
charm  and  fascination  about  him.  I  would  put  the  most  ac- 
complished lady-killer  in  England  in  ^a  drawing-room,  and  I 
know  where  the  girls'  eyes  would  go  the  moment  my  Yin  made 
his  appearance ;  perhaps  it  is  because  he  is  so  honestly  indiffer- 
ent to  them  all.  And  it  isn't  women  only,  it  isn't  merely  his 
good  looks — every  one,  young  and  old,  man  and  woman,  is 
taken  with  him ;  there  is  about  him  a  sort  of  magic  and  glamour 
of  youth — and — and  bright  promise — and  straightforward  in- 
tention—oh, I  can't  tell  you  what !— but — but — it's  something 
that  makes  me  love  him  I" 

<<  That  is  clear  enough,"  said  he ;  and,  indeed,  there  was  a 
ring  of  sincerity  in  her  tone,  sometimes  even  a  tremor  in  her 
voice — perhaps  of  pride. 

"  Well,"  she  resumed,  as  they  strolled  along  under  the  beetled 
crags  that  were  all  aflame  with  golden-yellow  birch  and  blood- 
red  rowan.  "  I  am  not  going  to  stand  aside  and  see  all  that 
fair  promise  lost  I  own  I  am  a  selfish  woman ;  and  hitherto  I 
have  kept  aloof,  as  I  did  not  want  to  get  myself  into  trouble. 
I  am  going  to  hold  aloof  no  longer.  The  more  I  hear,  the  moi« 
I  am  convinced  that  Yin  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  an  unscru- 
pulous sharper — ^perhaps  a  pair  of  them ;  and  I  mean  to  have 
his  eyes  opened.  Here  is  this  new  revelation  about  that  Ameri- 
can book,  which  simply  means  that  you  were  swindled  out  of 
£60." 

"  One  moment,"  her  companion  said,  hastily,  and  there  was 
a  curious  look  of  mortification  on  his  face.  "  I  had  no  right  to 
tell  you  that  story.  I  broke  confidence.  I  am  ashamed  of  my- 
self. And  I  assure  yon  jl  was  not  swindled  out  of  any  £60. 
When  the  old  man  came  to  mc,  with  his  Scotch  accent,  and  hi* 


166 


■TAHD   VAST,  OBAIO-ROtSTOH  I 


If 


Scotch  patriotism,  and  bis  Scotch  plaid  thrown  over  htB  shont 
der — well, '  my  heart  warmed  to  the  tartan ;'  and  I  was  glad  of 
the  excuse  for  helping  him.  I  did  not  want  any  book ;  and  I 
certainly  did  not  want  the  money  hack.  But  when  Yin  came 
to  me,  and  made  explanations,  and  finally  handed  me  a  check 
for  £50,  there  was  something  in  his  manner  that  told  me  I  dare 
not  refuse.  It  was  something  like  '  Refuse  this  money,  and 
you  doubt  the  honor  of  the  woman  I  am  going  to  marry.'  But 
seeing  that  I  did  take  it,  I  have  now  nothing  to  say.  My  mouth 
is  shut — ought  to  have  been  shut,  rather,  only  you  and  I  have 
had  some  very  confidential  J^ats  since  we  came  up  here." 

"  AH  the  same,  it  was  a  downright,  swindle,"  said  she,  dog- 
gedly ;  "  and  the  fact  that  Yin  paid  you  back  the  money  makes 
it  none  the  less  a  swindle.  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am  about 
to  do.  I  must  be  cruel  to  be  kind.  I  am  going  to  enlist  the 
services  of  Oteorge  Morris — " 

"  Sir  George  f"  he  asked.       .«.^.     ,M*     . 

"  No,  no ;  George  Morris,  the  solicitor ;  his  wife  and  I  are 
very  great  friends,  and  I  know  he  would  do  a  great  deal  for  me. 
Yery  well ;  he  must  get  to  know  simply  everything  about  this 
old  man — his  whole  history ;  and  if  it  turns  out  to  be  what  I 
imagine,  then  some  of  us  will  have  to  go  to  Yin  and  tell  him 
the  truth.  It  vvon't  be  a  pleasant  duty ;  but  duty  never  is  pleas- 
ant. I  know  1  shall  be  called  a  traitor  for  my  share  in  it.  Here 
is  Yin  appealing  to  mo  to  be  his  friend — as  if  I  were  not  bis 
friend ! — ^begging  me  to  come  an<l  take  this  solitary  and  friend- 
less girl  by  the  hand,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  and  instead  of  that 
I  go  behind  his  back  and  try  to  find  out  what  will  destroy  his 
youthful  romance  forever.  But  it's  got  to  be  done,"  said  the 
young  widow  with  a  sigh.  *'  It  will  be  a  wrench  at  first,  then 
six  months'  despair,  and  a  lifetime  of  thankfulness  thereafter. 
And,  of  course,  I  must  give  Qeoi^e  Morris  all  the  help  I  can. 
He  must  make  in 'i  uiries,  for  one  thing,  at  the  office  of  the  £di»- 
burgh  Chronicle.  I  remember  at  Henley  the  old  gentleman  spoke 
o£  the  proprietor  as  a  friend  of  his.  Then  the  xava.  you  know 
in  Ne-v  York,  who  gave  Mr.  Bethune  a  letter  of  introduction  to 


yon; 


what  is  his  name  and  address !" 


"  Oh,  no,"  said  Lord  Musselburgh,  shrinking  back,  as  it  were. 
*<  No ;  I  don't  want  to  take  part  in  it.  Of  course,  you  may  be 
acting  quite  rightly ;  no  doubt  you  are  acting  entirely  in  Yin's 


STARB   TAIT,  OKAIO'BOTnOK  I 


i«y 


,  over  Mb  Bhoul- 
jd  I  was  glad  of 
,ny  book ;  and  I 
when  Vin  came 
d«d  me  a  fibeck 
it  told  me  I  dare 
this  money,  and 
;  to  marry.'  But 
,  say.  My  mouth 
r  you  and  I  have 
e  up  here." 
B,"  said  she,  dog- 
the  money  makes 
I  what  I  am  about 
oing  to  enlist  the 

is  wife  and  1  M* 

great  deal  for  me. 

•ything  about  this 
out  to  be  what  I 
Vin  and  tell  him 

iuty  never  is  pleas- 
share  in  it.  Here 
if  I  were  not  his 

lolitary  and  friend- 
nd  instead  of  that 

[at  will  destroy  his 
te  done,"  said  the 
ench  at  first,  then 
Julness  thereafter, 
all  the  help  I  can. 
1  oflBce  of  the  Edin' 
Id  gentleman  spoke 
the  rain  you  know 
of  introduction  to 

kg  back,  as  it  were, 
tourse,  you  may  be 
bg  entirely  in  Vin's 


interest,  but  —  buw  I  would  rather  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it." 

"  And  yet  you  call  yourself  Yin's  friend  I  Come,  tell  me," 
she  said,  coaxingly.        '  :vli'^^ 

Again  he  refused. 

"  Mind  you,  I  believe  I  could  find  out  for  myself,"  she  went 
on.  "  I  know  that  he  is  the  editor  of  a  newspaper  in  New  York 
— a  Scotch  newspaper ;  come,  Lord  Musselburgh,  give  me  his 
name,  or  the  name  of  the  newspaper." 

He  shook  his  head.      .if^c;  -vs.  f-.r-sstr/f-.  '■■■j'i<r','-i:':''- 

"  No — not  fair,"  he  said. 

Then  she  stopped  and  faced  him,  and  regarded  him  with  arch 
eyes.       ^  -  vi)  •/  (i';nj.S/^<i'?2*v»a'^*^7A'i  r.  <«i*f if-yaj^ift  "';* 

"  And  yet  it  was  on  'this  very  pathway,  only  y«^rday  morn- 
ing, that  you  swore  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  that 
you  wouldn't  do  for  me  1"       »  *i/i^&i1^--^'lvi*^  ,ff5 

"That  was  different,"  said  he,  with  some  hesitation.  "I 
meant  as  regards  myrelf.    This  concerns  some  one  else." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  she,  and  she  walked  on  proudly.  *'  I 
dare  say  I  can  find  out" 

He  touched  her  arm  to  detain  her,      •''  "  ;;.!• 

"  Have  you  a  note-book  J"  he  asked.        ..t"^$ikS^i^ 

She  took  from  her  pocket  a  combined  parse  and  note-book; 
and  without  a  word  or  a  smile  she  pulled  out  the  pencil. 

"  <  Hugh  Anstrnther,  Wettem  Seotaman  Office,  New  York,' " 
said  he,  rather  shamefacedly. 

"  There,  that  is  all  right,"  she  said,  blithely,  and  she  put  the 
note-book  in  her  pocket  again.  "  That  is  as  far  as  we  can  go  in 
the  matter  at  present ;  and  now  wc  can  talk  of  something  else. 
What  is  the  name  of  this  little  bay !" 

"  Little  Qanovan,  I  believe."  A»  fe^  9»ii 

"  And  tihe  other  one  we  passed  f" 

"PortBAn." 

"  What  is  the  legend  attached  to  the  robber's  cave  up  there 
in  the  rocks  ?" 

"  The  legend !  Oh,  some  one  toldme  the  gardener  keeps  his 
toola.in  that  cave." 

"  What  kind  of  a  legend  is  that !"  she  said,  impatiently ;  and 
then  she  went  on  with  her  qnestionn.  "  Why  doesn't  anybody 
ever  come  round  this  way  t" 


les 


nAXD  VAST,  OBAIChBOTSTOm 


"I  snppose  because  they  know  we  want  the  place  to  onr- 
selves" 

"  And  why  shoald  we  want  the  place  to  ounelTes !" 

This  was  unexpected.     He  paused. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  '*what  is  the  use  of  my  telling  yonf  All 
your  interest  is  centred  on  Yin.  I  snppose  a  woman  can  only 
be  interested  in  one  man  at  any  one  time." 

"  Well,  I  should  hope  so  1"  the  young  widow  said,  cheerfully. 
"  Shall  we  go  round  by  the  rocks  or  through  the  trees  f ' 

For  they  were  now  come  to  a  little  wood  of  birch  and  larch 
and  pine,  and  without  more  ado  he  led  the  way,  pushing  through 
the  outlying  tall  bracken,  and  getting  in  underneath  the  branches. 

« I  suppose,"  said  he,  in  a  rather  rueful  tone,  "  that  yon  don't 
know  the  greatest  proof  of  affection  that  a  man  can  »how  to  a 
woman !    No,  of  course  you  don't  i" 

"  What  is  it,  then }"  she  demanded,  as  she  followed  Lim, 
stooping. 

"  Why,  it's  going  first  through  a  wood,  and  getting  all  the 
spiders'  webs  on  his  nose." 

But  presently  they  had  come  to  a  clearer  space,  where  they 
could  walk  together,  their  footfalls  hushed  by  the  carpet  of 
withered  fir-needles,  while  here  and  there  a  rabbit  would  scurry 
off,  and  again  they  would  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  hen-pheasant  se- 
dately walking  down  a  glade  between  the  trees.  And  now  their 
talk  had  become  much  more  intimate  and  confidential;  it  bad 
even  assumed  a  touch  of  more  or  less  affected  sadness. 

"  It's  very  hard,"  he  was  saying, "  that  yon  should  understand 
me  so  little.  You  think  I  am  cold  and  cynical  and  callous. 
Well,  perhaps  I  hare  reason  to  be.  I  have  had  my  little  experi- 
ence of  womankind — of  one  woman,  rather.  I  sometimes  won- 
der whether  the  rest  are  anything  like  her,  or  are  capable  of 
acting  as  she  did." 

"Who  was  shef  his  companion  asked,  timidly. 

And  therewith,  as  they  idly  and  slowly  strolled  through  this 
little  thicket,  he  told  his  tragic  tale,  which  needs  not  to  be  set 
down  here.  It  was  all  about  the  James  River,  Virginia,  and  a 
pair  of  Southern  eyes  and  betrayal  and  farewell  and  black  night 
His  companion  listened  in  the  deep  silence  of  sympathy ;  and 
when  he  had  finished  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  and  with  down- 
cast eyes. 


he  pUce  to  o^^ 

elling  you!    All 
woman  can  only 

r  said,  cheerfully, 
he  trees !" 
if  birch  and  larch 
.pushing  through 
eath  the  branches. 
}, "  that  you  don't 
lan  can  "how  to  a 

he  followed  Um, 

nd  getting  all  the 

space,  where  they 
by  the  carpet  of 
ibbit  would  scurry 
a  hen-pheasant  se* 
ss.    And  now  their 
onfidential;  it  had 
1  sadness, 
should  understand 
rnical  and  callous, 
id  my  little  experi- 
I  sometimes  won- 
or  are  capable  of 

midly. 

rolled  through  this 

eeds  not  to  be  set 
eer,  Virginia,  and  a 
ell  and  black  night 

of  sympathy ;  and 
ice  and  with  down- 


BTAWD  VAST,  OBAIO-ROTBTOH I 


169 


"  I  nm  sorry — very  sorry ;  4>ut  at  least  there  was  one  thing 
spared  you ;  you  did  not  marry  out  of  spite." 

He  glauced  at  her  quickly. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  ;ind  she  raised  her  head  and  spoke  with 
a  proud  and  bitter  air, "  I  have  my  story  too  I  I  do  not  tell  it 
to  every  one.  Perhaps  I  have  not  told  it  to  any  one.  But  the 
man  I  loved  was  separated  from  me  by  lies — by  lies;  and  I  was 
fool  and  idiot  enough  to  believe  theml  And  the  one  I  told 
you  about — the  one  with  the  beautiful,  clear  brown  eyes — so 
good  and  noble  he  was,  as  every  one  declared !  It  was  he  who 
came  to  me  with  those  falsehoods,  and  I  believed  them — I  be- 
lieved them — like  the  fool  I  was !  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  and  she 
held  her  head  hi.<;h,  for  her  breast  was  heaving  with  real  emo- 
tion this  time,  "  it  is  easy  to  say  that  every  mistake  meets  with 
its  own  punishment ;  but  I  was  punhhod  too  much — too  much ; 
a  lifelong  punishment  for  believing  wl  .  lying  friends  had  said 
to  me  1"  She  furtively  put  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  her  eyes, 
to  wipe  away  the  tears  that  lay  along  her  lashes.  "  And  then 
I  was  mad ;  I  was  out  of  my  senses ;  I  would  have  married  any- 
body to  show  that — that  I  cared  nothing  for  —  for  the  other 
one;  and  —  and  I  suppose  he  was  angry  too;  he  would  not 
speak ;  he  stood  aside,  and  knew  that  I  was  going  to  kill  my 
life,  and  never  a  single  word !  That  was  his  revenge — to  say 
nothing — when  he  saw  me  about  to  kill  my  life !  Cruel,  do  you 
call  it  ?  Oh,  no !  what  does  it  matter  ?  A  woman's  heart  broken 
— what  is  that !  But  now  you  know  why  I  think  so  of  men — 
and — and  why  I  laugh  at  them — " 

Well,  her  laughing  was  strange ;  she  suddenly  burst  into  a 
violent  fit  of  crying  and  sobbing,  and  turned  away  from  him, 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  handkerchief.  What  could  he  do! 
This  was  all  unlike  the  gay  young  widow  who  seemed  so  proud 
of  her  solitary  estate  and  so  well  content.  Feeble  words  of 
comfort  were  of  small  avail.  And  then,  again,  it  hardly  seemed 
the  proper  occasion  for  offering  her  more  substantial  sympathy 
— though  that  was  in  his  mind  all  the  while,  and  very  nearly 
on  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  So  perforce  he  had  to  wait  until  her 
weeping  wa'^  over ;  and,  indeed,  it  was  she  herself  who  ended 
the  scene  by  exclaiming  impatiently  : 

"  There,  enough  of  that  I  I  did  not  intend  to  bother  yon 
with  my  small  troubles  when  I  stayed  behind  for  you  this 
H 


170 


BTAKD    FAST,  ORAIO-ROTITOll  I 


morning.  Come,  shall  we  go  oat  on  to  the  rocks,  aud  ronnd 
bjr  the  little  bay  f    What  do  you  call  it — Oanovan  f ' 

<*  Yes ;  I  think  thoy  call  it  Little  Ganovan,"  hn  said,  absently, 
as  he  and  she  together  emerged  from  the  twilight  of  larch  and 
pine,  and  proceeded,  leisurely  and  in  silence,  to  cross  the  semi- 
circular sweep  of  yellow  sand. 

When  they  got  to  the  edge  of  the  rocks,  they  sat  down  there ; 
apparently  they  had  nothing  to  do  on  this  idle  morning  but  to 
contemplate  that  vast,  far-murmuring,  dark-blue  plain — touched 
here  and  there  with  a  sharp  glimmer  of  white — and  the  range 
upon  range  of  the  Kingairloch  hills,  deepening  in  purple  gloom, 
or  shining  rose-gray  and  yellow-gray  in  the  sun.  In  this  solitude 
they  were  quite  alone  save  for  the  sea-birds  that  had  wheeled 
into  the  air,  screaming  and  calling,  at  their  approach ;  but  the 
terns  and  curlews  were  soon  at  peace  again ;  a  cloud  of  gulls 
retnrued  to  one  of  the  little  islands  just  in  front  of  them ;  while 
a  slow-flapping  heron  winged  its  heavy  flight  away  to  the  north. 
All  once  more  was  silence ;  and  the  world  was  to  themselves. 

And  yet  what  was  he  to  say  to  this  poor  suffering  soul  whose 
tragic  sorrows  and  experiences  had  been  thus  unexpectedly  dis- 
closed ?  He  really  wished  to  be  sympathetic ;  and,  if  he  dared, 
he  would  have  reminded  her  that  ,.,,.,-  f„. 


rt-r-^*! 


*'  Whispering  tongues  can  poison  tmti'i ; 
And  (NHuUnojr  lives  in  realms  above; 
And  life  is  thorny ;  and  youtli  is  vain;. 

And  to  be  wroth  with  one  we  love      v  a^j';  ^  A^-,r.. 
Doth  woric  lilte  madness  in  the  brain." 


.  ■  i^Q    tki  Ut&'. 


only  he  knew  how  difiScult  it  is  to  quote  poetry  without  making 
one's  self  ridiculous,  and  also  he  knew  that  the  pietty  young 
widow's  eyes  had  a  dangerous  trick  of  sudden  laughter.  How- 
ever, it  was  she  who  first  spoke. 

'*I  wonder  what  those  who  have  gone  to  church  will  say 
when  they  discover  that  we  have  spent  all  the  morning  here  f 

"  They  may  say  what  they  like,"  he  made  answer,  promptly. 
« There  are  things  one  cannot  speak  about  in  drawing-rooms, 
among  a  crowd.  And  how  could  I  ever  have  imagined  tb'it 
you,  with  your  high  spirits  and  merry  temperament  and  per- 
petual good-humor,  had  come  through  such  trials  t  I  wonder 
that  peo{Je  never  think  of  the  mischief  that  is  done  by  inter- 
meddling." ,-,  o  4   u.  ;»/ 


STAND   WAKT,  ORAIO-BOTSTOlTt 


m 


rocks,  «i.d  round 
jvan  V' 

hp  said,  absently, 
light  of  larch  and 
to  cross  the  semi- 

sy  sat  down  there ; 
lie  morning  but  to 
uo  plain— touched 
te— and  the  range 
ig  in  purple  gloom, 
1.    In  this  solitude 
that  had  wheeled 
approach ;  but  the 
1 ;  a  cloud  of  gulls 
•ont  of  them ;  while 
t  away  to  the  north, 
as  to  themselves. 
lufEering  soul  whose 
IS  unexpectedly  dis- 
c;  and,  if  he  dared, 

tove; 


tin; 

'6 


try  without  making 
it  the  pietty  young 
.en  laughter.    How- 
to  church  will  say 
he  morning  here  f 
\e  answer,  promptly. 
[t  in  drawing-rooms, 
have  imagined  tbit 
tperament  and  per- 
trials!    1  wonder 
,  is  done  by  inter- 


" Intermeddling f  said  she,  proudly.  "It  wasn't  of  intor< 
meddling  I  had  to  complain ;  it  was  a  downright  conspiracy ; 
it  was  false  stories ;  I  was  deceived  by  those  who  professed  to 
be  my  best  friends.  There  is  intermeddling  and  intermeddling. 
You  might  say  I  was  intermeddling  in  the  case  of  my  nephew. 
But  what  harm  can  come  of  thi>t  t  It  is  not  lies — it  is  the  truth 
I  want  to  have  told  him.  And  even  if  it  causes  him  some  pain, 
it  will  be  for  his  good.    Don't  you  think  I  am  right  t" 

He  hesitated. 

"  I  hope  so,"  be  said.  "  But  you  know  things  wear  such 
a  different  complexion  according  to  the  way  you  look  at 
them." 

*'  But  facts,  Lord  Musselburgh,  facts,"  she  persisted.  "  Do 
you  think  a  man  like  George  Morris  would  be  affected  by  any 
sentimental  considerations  one  way  or  the  other!  Won't  he 
find  out  just  the  truth?  And  that  is  all  I  honestly  want  Yin 
to  know — the  actual  truth.  Then  let  him  go  on  with  his  eyes 
open  if  he  chooses.  Facts,  Lord  Musselburgh ;  who  can  object 
to  facts?"  Then  she  said,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  that  he 
might  assist  her  to  rise, 

"  We  must  be  thinking  of  getting  back  home  now ;  for  if  we 
are  late  for  lunch  those  Drexel  girls  will  be  grinning  at  each 
other  like  a  couple  of  fiends." 

Rather  reluctantly  he  rose  also  and  accompanied  her.  Thoy 
made  their  way  across  a  series  of  rough,  bracilL'^n-covered  knolls 
projecting  into  the  sea,  until  they  reached  ta^.  Uttle  bay  that  is 
known  as  Port  B&n ;  and  here  eitlor  the  beauty  and  solitude 
of  the  place  tempted  them,  for  tney  were  determined  to  defy 
sarcasm,  for,  instead  of  hastening  home,  they  quietly  strolled  up 
and  down  the  smooth  cream-white  beach,  now  and  again  picking 
up  a  piece  of  rose-red  sea-weed,  or  turning  over  a  limpet-shell, 
or  watching  a  sand-piper  making  his  quick  little  runs  alongside 
the  clear,  crisp-ourling  ripples.  They  did  not  speak ;  they  were 
as  silent  as  the  transparent  blue  shadows  that  their  figures  cast 
on  the  soft-yielding  surface  on  which  they  walked.  And  some- 
times Lord  Musselburgh  seemed  inclined  to  write  something 
with  the  point  of  his  stick  on  that  flawless  sand ;  and  then  again 
Le  desisted,  and  still  they  continued  silent 

She  took  up  a  piece  of  pink  sea-  weed,  ..nd  began  palling  it  to 
shreds.    He  wm  standing  by,  looking  on.  y>j3 1 '  ,  <  . '    ' 


171 


ITJkMD    FAST,  ORAlO-ROTBTOXt 


'*  Don't  you  think,"  said  ho  at  last,  "  tliat  then  should  be  a 
good  doal  of  sympathy — a  very  unusual  sympathy — between 
two  people  who  have  come  through  the  same  suffering  f 

'*  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  with  affected  carelessness,  her 
eyes  still  bent  on  the  seaweed. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he  again,  "  that  I  haven't  the  least  idea 
what  your  name  is  t" 

"  My  name  f    Oh,  my  name  is  Madge,"  she  answered. 

" Madge t"  said  he,  "I  wonder  if  you  make  the  capital  M 
this  way  t"  and  therewith  he  traced  on  the  sand  an  ornamental 
M  in  the  manner  of  the  last  century. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is  very  pretty.  How  do  you 
write  the  rest!" 

Thus  encouraged,  he  made  bold  to  add  the  remaining  letters, 
and  seemed  rather  to  admire  his  handiwork  when  it  was  done. 

'*  By  the  way,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  know  your  Christian  name 
either." 

"Hubert."  * 

"  Can  you  write  that  in  the  same  fashion  f '  she  suggested 
with  a  simple  ingenuouuiiess. 

So,  grown  st  11  bolder,  he  laboriously  inscribed  his  name 
immediately  underneath  her  own.  But  that  was  not  all.  When 
be  had  ended  he  drew  a  circle  right  round  both  names. 

"  That  is  a  ring  to  enclose  thtm,"  said  he,  and  he  turned  from 
the  scored  names  to  regard  her  downcast  face.  "  But — but  I 
know  a  much  smaller  ring  that  could  bring  them  still  oloaer  to- 
gether.    Will  you  let  me  try — Madge!"       *,{;<«  'f'l  r-;;  / 

He  took  her  hand.  *    '-'^'i  '• 

"Yes," she  said  in  a  low  voice.      "-'  »^  i  jw,   :  „  ^  ,. 

And  then — oh,  very  well,  then :  then — but  after  a  reasonable 
delay — then  they  left  those  creamy  sands,  and  went  up  by 
the  edge  of  the  blue-green  turnip-field  to  the  pathway,  and 
so  to  the  iron  gate;  and  as  he  opened  the  gate  for  her  she 
said: 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  happened  down  there,  and  what  I've 
pledged  myself  to ;  but,  at  all  events,  there  will  now  be  one 
more  on  my  side  to  help  me  about  Yin,  and  get  him  out  of  all 
this  sad  trouble.     You  will  help  me,  won't  you,  Hubert  t" 

Of  coarse  he  was  eager  to  promise  anything. 

"  And  you  say4ie  is  sure  to  get  in  for  Mendover?   Why,  just 


•TAND   FAIT,  ORAIO-ftOYVTOItt 


17t 


here  ihoiild  be  a 
npathy — between 
luffortng  I" 
[  careleuneM,  hor 

en't  the  least  idea 

answered. 

iko  the  capital  M 

ind  an  ornamental 

tty.    How  do  you 

I  remaining  letters, 
when  it  was  done. 
>ar  Cbristian  name 

,',  •  .ti'^fet-'v.  *i.i'4f  *  r'l^i'  • 
inT  she  suggested 

isoribed  his  name 
was  not  all.  When 
oth  names, 
and  he  turned  from 
ace.  "But— but  I 
them  still  closer  to- 


it  after  a  reasonable 
8,  and  went  up  by 
>  the  pathway,  and 
le  gate  for  her  she 

there,  and  what  IVe 
«  will  now  be  one 
get  him  out  of  all 
^ou,  Hubert  r 
ing. 
mdoTer?   Why,  just 


think  of  him  now,  with  everything  before  him ;  and  how  nice  it 
would  be  for  all  of  us  if  ho  had  a  smart  and  clever  wife,  who 
would  hold  hor  own  in  society,  and  do  him  justice,  and  make  us  all 
AN  proud  and  fond  of  hor  as  wo  are  of  him.  And  just  fancy  the 
four  of  us  setting  out  on  a  winter  trip  to  Cairo  or  Jernulero ; 
wouldn't  it  be  simply  too  delicious  f  The  four  of  us — only  the 
four  of  us — ail  by  t/'irsolvos.  Louie  Droxol  is  rather  young,  to 
bn  sure ;  yet  she  knows  her  way  about;  she's  sharp ;  she's  clever; 
flho  will  have  some  money ;  and  she  has  choek  enough  for  any- 

•ing.  And,  by  the  way,  Hubert,"  said  she  (and  always  with 
a  pretty  little  hesitation  when  she  came  to  his  Christian  name), 
"  I  must  really  ask  you — with  regard  to  Louie  Drexel — well — 
you  know — you  have  been — just  a  little — " 

He  murmured  something  about  the  devotion  of  a  lifetime^ 
the  devotion  which  he  had  just  promised  to  her — being  a  very 
different  thing  from  trivial  drawing-room  dallyings ;  whereupon 
(iho  observed, 

"  Oh,  yes,  men  say  so  by  way  of  excuse — " 

"  How  many  men  have  said  so  to  yon  t"  he  demanded,  flar- 
ing up. 

"  I  did  not  say  they  had  said  so  to  me"  she  answered,  sweetly. 
"  Don't  go  and  be  absurdly  jealous  without  any  cause  whatever. 
If  any  one  has  a  right  to  be  jealous,  it  is  I,  considering  the  way 
yoii  have  been  going  on  with  Louie  Drexel.  But,  of  course,  if 
there's  nothing  in  it,  that's  all  well  and  done  with ;  and  I  am  of  a 
forgiving  disposition  when  I'm  taken  the  right  way.  Now  about 
Vin :  can  you  seo  anybody  who  would  do  better  for  him  than 
Louie  Drexel  T' 

Be  sure  it  was  not  of  Vin  Harris,  much  as  h^  was  interested 
in  him,  that  Lord  Musselburgh  wished  to  talk  at  this  moment ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  first  flush  of  his  prido  and  gratitude, 
any  whim  of  hers  was  law  to  him ;  and,  perhaps,  it  was  a  suflS- 
cient  and  novel  gratification  to  be  able  to  call  her  Madge. 

"  Fm  afraid,"  said  he,  "  that  Yin  is  not  the  kind  of  person  to 
havo  his  life  arranged  for  him  by  other  people.  And,  besides, 
you  must  remember,  Madge  dear,  that  you  are  assuming  a  great 
deal.  You  are  assuming  that  you  can  show  Yin  that  this  old 
man  is  an  impostor — " 

"  Oh,  can  there  be  any  doubt  of  it  1"  she  exclaimed.  "  Isn't 
the  story  you  have  told  me  yourself  enough  I" 


mmmammmmik' 


174 


■TARD   FAIT,  OIUIO-KOT8TOH  I 


Lord  MuMelburgh  looked  rather  uncomfortable;  he  waa  a 
good-natured  kind  of  person,  and  liked  to  think  the  beat  of 
everybody. 

"  I  had  DO  right  to  tell  you  that  story,"  said  he. 

*'  But  now  I  have  the  right  to  know  about  that  and  every- 
thing else,  haven't  I,  Ilubertt"  said  she,  with  a  pretty  coy- 
oess. 

"  And,  besides,"  he  continued,  "  Yin  has  a  perfect  explanation 
of  the  whole  affair.  There  is  no  doubt  the  old  man  was  just  full 
of  this  subject,  and  believed  he  could  write  about  it  better  than 
any  one  else,  even  supposing  the  idea  had  occurred  to  some  other 
person.  lie  was  anxious  above  all  things  that  his  poetical  coun- 
trymen over  there  in  the  States  and  Canada  should  bo  done 
justice  to,  and  when  he  hoard  that  the  volume  was  actually  pub- 
lished he  immediately  declared  that  he  would  do  everything  in 
his  power  to  help  it." 

'*  But  what  about  the  fifty  pounds,  Hubert  t" 

"  Oh,  well,"  her  companion  said,  rather  uneasily,  "  I  have  told 
you  that  that  was  a  gift  from  roe  to  him.  I  did  liot  stipulate 
for  the  publication  of  any  book."  i.:  ^ri 

She  considered  for  a  moment,  then  she  said  with  some  em- 
phasis : 

"  And  you  think  it  no  shame,  you  think  it  no  monstrous  thing 
that  our  Yin  should  marry  a  girl  who  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
going  about  with  her  grandfather  while  lie  begged  money  and 
accepted  money  from  strangers  f  Is  that  the  fate  you  wish  for 
your  friend  I" 

"  No,  I  don't  wish  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  he,  "  if — if 
matters  were  so.  But  Yin  and  you  look  at  these  things  in  a 
very  different  light ;  and  I  can  hardly  believe  that  he  has  been 
so  completely  imposed  on.  I  confess  I  liked  the  old  man ;  I 
liked  his  splendid  enthusiasm,  his  magnificent  self-reliance,  yes, 
and  his  Scotch  plaid ;  and  I  thought  the  girl  was  remarkably 
beautiful — and  more  than  that — refined  and  distinguished-look- 
ing— something  unusual  about  her  somehow — " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are  far  too  generous,  Hubert,"  his  companion 
said.  "  You  accept  Yin's  representation's  without  a  word ;  but 
I  see  more  clearly.  And  that  little  transaction  about  the  book 
and  the  fifty  pounds  gives  me  a  key  to  the  whole  situation. 
You  may  depend  on  it,  George  Morris  will  find  out  what  kind  of 


.^immm 


^MUHMMMP 


liiilhi 


VrAlTD   VAt^  ORAIQ>«OTITONI 


Iff 


a1)1«;  lie  WM  « 
iink  the  belt  of 

he. 

;  that  and  every- 

ih  a  pretty  coy- 

irfect  explanation 
man  waa  juat  full 
out  it  better  than 
■rod  to  some  other 
his  poetical  coun< 
I  should  bo  done 
was  actually  pub- 
do  everything  in 

It>  ■•  ' 

isily,  "  I  have  told 
'.  did  bot  stipulate 

id  with  some  em- 

o  monstrous  thing 

en  in  the  habit  of 

egged  money  and 

ate  yon  viflb  tot 

"said  he, "if— if 
these  things  in  a 

that  he  has  been 
d  the  old  man ;  I 

self-reliance,  yes, 
was  remarkably 

istinguished-look- 

rt,"  his  companion 
thout  a  word ;  but 
>n  about  the  book 
e  whole  situation, 
out  what  kind  of 


person  your  grandiloquent  old  Scotchman  is  like.    And  then, 
when  Yin's  cyos  arc  opened — " 

"  Yes,  trhen  Vin's  eyes  are  opened  t"  her  compaiiion  repeated. 

" — Then  he  will  see  into  what  a  terrible  pit  he  waa  nearly 
fttllinK." 

"  Are  you  so  sure  of  thatt"  Musaoiburgh  said.  "  I  know  Yin  a 
little.  It  isn't  merely  a  pretty  face  that  has  taken  Lis  fancy,  as 
you  yourself  admit.  If  ho  has  faith  in  that  girl  it  may  not  bo 
easy  to  shake  it" 

'•  I  should  not  attempt  to  shake  it,"  she  made  ansHci  at  once, 
"  if  the  girl  was  everything  she  ought  to  be,  and  of  proper  up- 
bringing and  surroundings.  But  even  if  it  turned  out  that  she 
was  everything  she  should  be.,  wouldn't  it  be  too  awful  to  have 
Yin  dragged  down  into  an  alliance  with  that  old — that  old— oh, 
I  don't  know  what  to  call  'aim  I" 

"  Nfadge,  dear,"  said  he,  "  don't  call  him  anything  until  you 
learn  more  about  him.  And  in  the  meantime,"  he  continued 
rather  plaintively,  *'  don't  you  think  we  might  talk  a  little  about 
ourselves,  considering  what  has  just  happened  I" 

"  There  is  such  a  long  time  before  us  to  tilk  about  onrselvcn," 
Haid  she.  "  And  you  know,  Hubert,  you've  come  into  our  fam* 
ily,  as  it  were ;  and  yon  must  take  a  share  in  our  troubles." 

They  were  noaring  the  house ;  five  minutes  more  would  bring 
them  in  sight  of  the  open  Uwn. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Madge,  dear,"  said  he ;  and  ho  halted  by  the 
side  of  a  little  bit  of  plantation.  "  Don't  be  in  such  &  hurry.  I 
wish  to  speak  to  you  about — " 

"  About  what  f"  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  a  whole  heap  of  things.  For  example,  do  you  want  the 
Somervilles  to  know  t" 

"  I  don't  particuUrly  want  them  to  know,"  she  answered  him, 
"  but  I  fear  they  will  soon  find  out." 

"  I  should  like  you  to  tell  Mrs.  Somerville,  anyway." 

"  Yery  well." 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  care  if  all  the  people  in  the  house  know  !" 
said  he,  boldly. 

"  Hubert,  what  are  you  saying  f"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  fine 
simulation  of  horror.  "  My  life  would  be  made  a  burden  to  me  I 
Fancy  those  Drexel  girls :  they  would  shriek  with  joy  at  the 
chance  of  torturing  me !    I  should  have  to  fly  from  the  place. 


178 


8TAKD   i>ABt,  eRA^O-KOTBTOiri 


I  should  take  the  first  train  for  the  South  to-monsw  mom< 
ing!" 

"  Really  1"  said  he,  with  considerable  coolness.  "  For  I  have 
been  thinking  that  those  names  we  printed  on  the  sands — " 

"  That  you  printed,  you  mean  1" 
•  "  — were  above  high-water  mark.  Consequently  they  will  re- 
main there  for  some  little  time.  Now  it  is  highly  probable  that 
some  of  our  friends  may  be  walking  along  to  Port  B&n  this 
afternoon ;  and  if  they  wore  to  catch  sight  of  those  hieroglyph- 
ics—" 

"  Hubert,"  said  she,  with  decision,  "  you  must  go  along  im- 
mediately after  luncheon  and  score  them  out.  I  would  not  for 
the  world  have  those  Drexel  girls  suspect  what  has  happened  1" 

"  Won't  you  come  with  me,  Madge,  after  luncheon  I" 

'*  Oh,  we  can't  be  haunting  those  sands  all  day  like  a  couple 
of  sea-gulls !"  ^     ;  L  -  /  ■ 

"  But  I  think  you  might  come !"  he  pleaded. 

"Very  well,"  said  she,  "I  suppose  I  must  begin  with  obe- 
dience." 

And  yet  they  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  get  on  to  the  house.  A 
robin  perched  himself  on  the  wire  fence  not  four  yards  away, 
and  jerked  his  uad,  and  watched  them  with  his  small,  black, 
lustrous  eye.  A  weasel  came  trotting  down  the  road,  stopped, 
looked,  and  glided  noiselessly  into  the  plantation.  Two  wood- 
pigeons  went  swiftly  across  an  opening  in  the  trees ;  a  large 
hawk  soared  far  overhead.  On  this  still  Sunday  morning  there 
seemed  to  be  no  one  abroad ;  and  then  these  two  had  much 
to  say  about  a  ring  and  a  locket,  and  similar  weighty  matters. 
Moreover,  there  was  the  assignation  about  the  afternoon  to  be 
arranged. 

But  at  length  they  managed  to  tear  themselves  away  from 
this  secluded  place ;  they  went  round  by  the  front  of  the  big 
gray  building;  and  in  doing  so  had  to  pass  the  dining-room 
window. 

"  Oh,  my  gracious  goodness  I"  Mrs.  Ellison  exclaimed,  and  in  no 
simulated  horror  this  time.  "  They're  all  in  at  lunch,  every  one 
of  them,  and  I  don't  know  how  long  they  mayn't  have  been  in ! 
What  shall  I  do !" 

And  thun  a  sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  her. 

"  Hubert,  my  headache  has  come  back !    I'm  going  up  to  my 


iTOKI 

)uth  to-moTJJw  morn- 

jolnesR.  "  For  I  have 
don  the  sands — "  . 

iseqaently  they  will  re- 
is  highly  probable  that 
long  to  Port  B&n  this 
tt  of  those  hieroglyph- 

ou  must  go  along  im- 
ont.    I  would  not  for 
1  what  has  happened  !" 
er  luncheon !" 
s  all  day  like  a  couple 

i&ded.  '"  ■ 

must  begin  with  obe- 

et  on  to  the  house.  A 
not  four  yards  away, 
with  his  small,  black, 
}wn  the  road,  stopped, 
lantation.  Two  wood- 
'  in  the  trees ;  a  large 
Sunday  morning  there 
1  these  two  had  much 
nilar  weighty  matters, 
nt  the  afternoon  to  be 

themselves  away  from 
)y  the  front  of  the  big 
I  pass  the  dining-room 

ion  exclaimed,  and  in  no 
1  in  at  lunch,  every  one 
!  mayn't  have  been  in ! 

strike  her. 

I    I'm  going  up  to  my 


STAND   FAST,  CBAIO-ROtsTOVI 


117 


room.    Will  you  give  my  excuse  to  Mrs.  Somervillef    I'd  a 
hundred  times  rather  starve  than— than  be  found  out." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  nonsense !"  said  he,  but  in  an  undertone,  for 
they  were  new  in  the  spacious  stone-paved  hall.  "Go  to  your 
room  if  you  like,  and  I'll  tell  Mrs.  Somerville,  and  she'll  send 
you  up  something.  You  mustn't  starve,  for  you're  going  round 
with  me  to  Port  B&n  in  the  afternoon." 

And,  of  course,  the  gentle  hostess  was  grieved  to  hear  that 
her  friend  had  not  yet  got  rid  of  her  headache ;  and  she  herself 
went  forthwith  to  Mrs.  Ellison's  room,  to  see  what  would  most 
readily  tempt  the  appetite  of  the  poor  invalid.  The  poor  in- 
valid was  at  her  dressing-table,  taking  off  her  bonnet.  She 
wheeled  round. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  dear,  about  your  headache,"  her  hostess  was 
beginning,  when  the  young  widow  went  instantly  to  the  door 
and  shut  it  Then  she  came  back,  and  there  was  a  most  curious 
look— of  laughter,  perhaps— in  her  extremely  pretty  eyes. 

"  Never  mind  about  the  headache,"  she  said  to  her  astonished 
friend,  who  saw  no  cause  for  this  amused  embarrassment,  nor 
yet  for  the  exceedingly  affectionate  way  in  which  both  her  hands 
had  been  seized.  "  The  headache  is  gone.  I've— I've  some- 
thing else  to  tell  you.  Oh,  you'd  never  guess  it  in  the  worid ! 
My  dear,  my  dear  1"  she  cried  in  a  whisper,  and  her  tell-tale  eyes 
were  full  of  confusion  as  well  as  laughter.  «« You'd  never  guess 
—but— but  I've  gone  and  made  a  fool  of  myself  for  the  second 
time !" 


r       ■»,*  *-4 


178 


MARD  VABT,  0BAI0-R0T8T01T I 


><■ 


•f        ^-f     ^9 


CHAPTER  XI.  .     ^ 

"holy  palmer's  kiss."  * 

This  was  a  bright  and  cheerful  afternoon  in  November ;  and 
old  George  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter  were  walking  down 
Regent  Street.  A  brilliant  afternoon,  indeed;  and  the  scene 
around  them  was  quite  gay  and  animated ;  for  the  wintry  sun- 
light was  shining  on  the  big  shop-fronts,  and  on  the  busy  pave- 
ments, and  on  t'  b  open  carriages  that  rolled  by  with  their  oc- 
cupants gorgeoub  in  velvet  and  silk  and  fur.  Nor  was  George 
Bethune  moved  to  any  spirit  of  envy  by  all  this  display  of  lux- 
ury and  wealth ;  no  more  than  he  was  oppressed  by  any  sense 
of  solitariness  amid  this  slow-moving,  murmuring  crowd.  He 
walked  with  head  erect ;  he  paid  but  little  heed  to  the  passers- 
by  ;  he  was  singing  aloud,  and  that  in  a  careless  and  florid 
fashion: 

" '  The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  o'  Leith, 

Fa'  loud  the  wind  blawa  frae  the  ferrj, 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwiclc  Law, 

And  I  maun  leave  my  bonnie  Mary  I" 

But  suddenly  he  stopped :  his  attention  had  been  caught  by 
a  window,  or  rather  a  series  of  windows,  containing  all  sorts  of 
Scotch  articles  and  stuffs. 

"Maisrie,"  said  he,  as  his  eye  ran  over  these  varied  wares 
and  fabrics,  "  couldn't  you — couldn't  you  buy  some  little  bit  of 
a  thing!" 

"  Why,  grandfather  f"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  Answered,  with  an  air  of  lofty  indifference, 
«'  it  is  but  a  trifle — but  a  trifle ;  only  I  may  have  tpld  you  that 
my  friend  Carmichael  is  a  good  Scot — ^good  friend  and  good 
Scot  are  synonymous  terms,  to  my  thinking — and — and  as  you 
are  going  to  call  on  him  for  the  first  time,  you  might  show  him 
you  are  not  ashamed  of  your  country.  Isn't  there  something 
there,  Maisrie  f"  he  continued,  still  regarding  the  articles  in  the 
window.    "Some  little  bit  of  tartan  ribbon  —  something  you 


ABM 


'SW'  "  " 


STAKD   FAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTOlTt 


lYO 


;(■    ,.^   'f  .-■  .' 
■ ..   -■''%' 

in  November ;  and 
rere  walking  down 
d;  and  the  scene 
or  the  wintry  sun- 
on  the  busy  pave- 
by  with  their  oc- 
Nor  was  George 
his  display  of  lux- 
issed  by  any  sense 
uring  crowd.  He 
3ed  to  the  passers- 
utreless  and  florid 


crry, 


.'fte'^ISp 


id  been  caught  by 
raining  all  sorts  of 

these  varied  wares 
some  little  bit  of 


lofty  indifference, 
tave  tpld  you  that 

friend  and  good 
-and — and  as  you 
1  might  show  him 

there  something 
the  articles  in  the 
—  something  you 


could  put  round  your  neck — whatever  you  like — ^merely  to  show 
that  you  fly  your  country's  colors,  and  are  not  ashamed  of 
them—" 

"  But  why  should  I  pretend  to  be  Scotch,  grandfather,  when 
I  am  not  Scotch F'  she  said.  (.;      ,r  ^r?*  ,isfft 

He  was  not  angry  :  he  was  amused. 

"You — not  Scotch!  You,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  not 
Scotch!  What  are  you,  then!  A  Bethune  of  Balloray — ay, 
and  if  justice  were  done,  the  owner  and  mistress  of  Balloray, 
Ballingean,  and  Cadzow — and  yet  you  are  not  Scotch !    Where 

got  you  your  name !     What  is  your  lineage — your  blood ^your 

right  and  title  to  the  lands  of  Balloray  and  Ballingean !  And 
I  may  see  yoii  there  yet,  Maisrie;  I  may  see  you  there  yet. 
Stranger  things  have  happened.  But  come  away  now— >we  need 
not  quarrel  about  a  bit  of  ribbon ;  and  I  know  Mr.  Carmichael 
will  receive  you  as  his  countrywoman  even  if  you  have  not  a 
shred  of  tartan  about  you."        «^^  r/?*  «,-,^  s  i^<j  ^,  >  j  . 

Indeed,  he  had  taken  no  offence;  once  more  he  was  marching 
along,  with  fearless  eye  and  undaunted  front,  while  he  had  re- 


■■>V»    fcl-i?; 


iJ 


^ 


suraed  his  gallant  singing !  m^ 

"' But  it's  not  the  roar  o*  sea  or  shore 

Wad  nwk' me  Unger  wish  to  tarry,  ' 

-ft?f,ir>  .r.,;^  jj„r  Bhonts  o'  war  that's  heard  afar— 
It's  learlog  thee,  my  bonnie  Mary  I'" 

They  went  down  to  one  of  the  big  hotels  in  Northumberland 
Avenue ;  asked  at  the  office  for  Mr.  Carmichael ;  and  after  an 
immeasurable  length  of  waiting  were  conducted  to  his  room. 
Here  Maisrie  was  introduced  to  a  tall,  fresh-colored,  angular- 
boned  man,  who  had  shrewd  gray  eyes  that  were  also  good- 
humored.  Much  too  good-humored  they  were  in  Maisrie's  esti- 
mation when  they  chanced  to  regard  her  grandfather;  they 
seemed  to  convey  a  sort  of  easy  patronage,  almost  a. kind  of 
good-natured  pity,  that  she  was  quick  to  resent  But  how  could 
she  interfere!  These  were  business  matters  that  were  being 
talked  of ;  and  she  sat  somewhat  apart,  forced  to  listen,  but  not 
taking  any  share  in  the  conversation. 

Presently,  however,  she  heard  something  that  startled  her  out 
of  this  apathetic  concurrence,  and  set  all  her  pulses  flying.  The 
tall,  raw-boned  newspaper  proprietor,  eying  this  proud-featured 
old  man  with  a  not  unkindly  scrutiny,  was  referring  to  the  vol* 


180 


STAND   FABT,  0RAIO-ROT8TOK I 


umo  on  the  Scottish  poets  in  America  which  Georjre  Bethnno 
had  failed  to  bring  out  in  time ;  and  his  speech  was  considerate. 

"  It  is  not  the  first  case  of  forestalling  1  have  known,"  said  he ; 
"  and  it  must  just  bo  looked  on  as  a  bit  of  bad  luck.  Better 
fortune  next  time.  By  the  way,  there  is  another  little  circum- 
stance connected  with  that  book — perhaps  I  should  not  mention 
it— but  I  will  bo  discreet.  No  names ;  and  yet  you  may  like 
to  hear  that  you  have  got  another  friend  somewhere  —some- 
where in  the  background — " 

It  was  at  tb^'s  point  that  Maisrie  began  to  listen,  rather  breath- 
lessly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  your  friend — your  unknown  friend— .wanted  to  be 
generous  enough,"  Mr.  Carmichael  continued.  "  He  wrote  to 
me  saying  he  understood  that  I  bad  advanced  a  certiun  sum  tow- 
ards the  publication  of  the  work ;  and  he  went  on  to  explain 
that  as  certain  this  s  had  happened  to  prevent  your  bringing  it 
out,  he  wished  to  be  allowed  to  refund  the  money.  Oh,  yes,  a 
very  generous  offer,  for  all  was  to  be  done  in  the  profoundest 
secrecy.  You  were  not  to  know  anything  about  it,  lest  you 
should  be  offended.  And  yet  it  seemed  to  me  you  should  be 
glad  to  learn  that  there  was  some  one  interesting  himself  in  your 
affairs."  ,,_,.■',  , 

The  two  men  were  not  looking  at  the  girl :  they  could  not  see 
the  pride  and  joy  and  gratitude  that  were  in  her  eyes.  "  And 
Vincent  never  told  me  a  word !"  she  was  saying  to  herself,  with 
her  heart  beating  warm  and  fast.  But  that  was  not  the  mood 
in  which  old  George  Bethune  took  this  matter.  A  dark  frown 
was  on  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 

<«  I  do  not  see  what  right  any  one  has  to  intermeddle,"  said 
be,  in  tones  that  fell  cruelly  on  Maisrie's  ear,  ♦*  still  less  to  pay 
money  for  me  on  the  assumption  that  I  had  forgotten,  or  was 
unwilling  to  discharge,  a  just  debt — " 

"  Come,  come,  come,  Mr.  Bethune,"  said  the  newspaper  pro- 
prietor, with  a  sort  of  condescending  good-nature,  "you  must 
not  take  it  that  way.  To  begin  with,  he  did  not  pay  any  money 
at  all.  I  did  not  allow  him.  I  said,  <  Thank  you ;  but  this  is  a 
private  arrangement  between  Mr.  Bethune  and  myself ;  and  if  he 
considers  there  is  any  indebtedness,  then  ho  can  wipe  that  off 
by  contributions  to  the  Chronicle.''  So  yon  see  you  have  only 
to  thank  him  for  the  intention — " 


ri 


^~-:u 


BTAXO    rAST,  CRAIO-ROTSTOW  t 


181 


h  Qeor^e  Bethano 
ch  was  considerate, 
ire  known,"  said  he ; 
bad  luck.  Better 
lother  little  circum- 
should  not  mention 
,  yet  you  may  like 
somewhere  — some- 
listen,  rather  breath- 

iend— 'Wanted  to  be 
ed.  "  He  wrote  to 
d  a  certain  sum  tow- 
went  on  to  explain 
ent  your  bringing  it 
money.  Oh,  yes,  a 
I  in  the  profoundest 
;  about  it,  lest  you 
>  me  you  should  be 
iting  himself  in  your 

:  they  could  not  see 
in  her  eyes.  "  And 
j?ing  to  herself,  with 
\t  was  not  the  mood 
kter.    A  dark  frown 

0  intermeddle,"  said 
»r,  *'  still  less  to  pay 
nd  forgotten,  or  was 

the  newspaper  pro- 
-nature,  "you  must. 

1  not  pay  any  money 
k  you ;  but  this  is  a 
id  myself ;  and  if  he 
lO  can  wipe  that  ofi 
1  see  you  have  only 


"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  old  man,  changing  his  tone  at  once. 
•'  No  harm  in  that — no  hat-m  whatever.  Misplaced  intention — 
but — but  creditable.  And  now,"  he  oontinv  a  in  a  still  lighter 
strain, "  since  you  mention  the  Chronicle,  Mr.  Carmichael,  I  must 
tell  you  of  a  scheme  I  have  had  for  some  time  in  mind.  It 
is  a  series  of  papers  on  the  old  ballads  of  Scotland— or,  rather, 
the  chief  of  them — taking  one  for  nach  weekly  article,  giving  the 
different  versions,  with  historical  and  philological  notes.  What 
do  you  think  of  that,  now !  Look  at  the  material — the  finest 
in  the  world ! — the  elemental  passions,  the  tragic  situations  that 
are  far  removed  from  any  literary  form  or  fashion,  that  go 
straight  to  the  heart  and  the  imagination.  Each  of  them  a 
splendid  text  t"  he  proceeded,  with  an  ever-increading  enthu- 
siasm. "Think  of  Edom  o'  Gordon,  and  the  Wife  of  Usher's 
Well,  and  the  Baron  o'  Brackla ;  Annie  of  Lochryan,  Hynde  Etin, 
the  piteous  cry  of '  Helen  of  Eirkconnell,'  and  the  Rose  of  Yarrow 
seeding  her  slain  lover  by  bank  and  brae.  \nd  what  could  be 
more  interesting  than  the  collation  of  the  various  versions  of 
those  old  ballads,  showing  how  they  have  been  altered  here  and 
there  as  they  were  said  or  sung,  and  how  even  important  passages 
may  have  been  dropped  out  in  course  of  time  and  transmission  t 
Look,  for  example,  at '  Barbara  >.llan.'  The  version  in  '  Percy's 
Rcliques '  is  as  bad  and  stupid  as  it  can  be ;  but  it  is  worse  than 
that :  it  is  incomprehensible.  Who  can  believe  that  the  maiden 
came  to  the  bedside  of  her  dying  lover  only  to  flout  and  jeer,  and 
that  for  no  reason  whatever?    And  when  she  sees  his  corpse, 

"'With  soomful  eye  she  lookM  downe, 
Her  cheek  with  Unghter  awellin'.' 

Well,  I  say  that  is  not  true,"  he  went  on,  vehemently ;  "  it  never 
was  true ;  it  contradicts  human  nature ;  it  is  base  and  bad,  and 
impossible.  But  turn  to  our  Scottish  version.  When  Sir  John 
Graeme  o'  the  West  Countrie,  lying  sore  sick,  sends  for  his 
sweetheart,  she  makes  no  concealment  of  the  cause  of  the  feud 
that  has  been  between  them — of  the  wrong  that  is  rankling  at 
her  heart: 

" '" 0  dinna  jt  mind,  young  man,"  aaid  ahe, 
"  When  the  red  wine  ye  were  filling, 
Thmt  ye  made  the  healths  gae  ronnd  and  round. 
And  alighted  Barbara  Allan  T'" 


I 


■SB 


183 


BTAND   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTITOir  I 


And,  proud  and  indignant  she  tarns  away.  There  is  bo  sham 
laughter  here,  no  impossible  cruoltyv  but  a  quarrel  between  two 
fond  lovers  that  becomes  suddenly  tragic,  when  death  steps  in  to 
prevent  the  possibility  of  any  reconciliation : 


" '  He  turned  his  face  unto  the  wa', 
And  death  was  with  kirn  dealing; 
"Adieu,  adieu,  my  dear  friends  a' — 
Be  kind  to  Barbara  Allan  I"  > 


-1; 


-Si 


Can  anything  be  more  simple  and  natural,  and  inexpressibly  sad 
as  well  f  It  is  the  story  of  a  tragic  quarrel  between  two  true 
lovers ;  it  is  not  the  impossible  and  preposterous  story  of  a  gig- 
gling hoyden  grinning  at  a  corpse  I" 

And  here  it  was  probable  that  old  George  Bethune,  having 
warmed  to  his  subject,  and  being  as  usual  wildly  enamoured  of 
his  latest  scheme,  would  have  gone  on  to  give  farther  instances 
of  the  value  of  collation  and  comparison,  but  that  Mr.  Car  mi - 
chael  was  forced  to  interrupt.  The  proprietor  r{  the  Edinburgh 
Chronicle  was  a  busy  man  during  his  brief  visits  to  town. 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Bethune,"  said  he.  "  I  think  your  idea  a 
very  good  one — an  excellent  one,  in  fact,  for  the  weekly  edition 
of  a  Scotch  paper,  and  I  will  give  you  carte  blanche  as  to  the 
number  of  articles.  Who  knows,"  he  added,  with  a  conde- 
scending smile,  "  but  that  they  may  grow  to  a  book,  to  take  the 
place  of  the  one  that  was  snatched  out  of  your  hands  f" 

And  again,  as  his  visitors  were  leaving,  he,  said  in  the  same 
good-humored  way : 

"  I  presume  it  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  discuss  the  question 
of  terms,  especially  before  a  young  lady.  If  you  have  been 
satisfied  with  us  so  far — "  > 

"  I  am  quite  content  to  leave  that  with  you— quite,"  interposed 
the  old  man,  with  some  little  dignity. 

« I  was  only  going  to  say,"  Mr.  Carmichael  resumed,  "  that  a 
series  of  articles  such  as  yon  suggest  may  require  a  good  deal 
of  research  and  trouble,  so  that,  when  the  reckoning  comes,  I 
will  see  that  you  are  put  on  the  most-favored-nation  scale.  And 
not  a  word  more  about  the  American  book ;  we  were  disap- 
pointed, that  is  all." 

This  latter  admonition  was  wholly  unnecessary.  When  George 
Bethune  got  out  into  the  street  again,  with  Maisrie  as  his  sole 
companion  and  confidant,  it  was  not  of  that  lost  opportunity  h» 


WtAtm  VAST,  OKAIO-BOTBTOiri 


les 


bere  is  vo  nham 
Tel  between  two 
death  steps  in  to 


inexpressibly  sad 
)etween  two  true 
IS  story  of  a  gig- 

Betbane,  having 
lly  enamoured  of 
farther  instances 
I  that  Mr.  Carmi- 
rf  the  Edinburgh 
ts  to  town, 
iiink  your  idea  a 
be  weekly  edition 
blanche  as  to  the 
d,  with  a  conde- 

book,  to  take  the 

hands?" 

said  in  the  same 

3U88  the  question 
you  have  been 

juite,"  interposed 

esumed,  "  that  a 
inire  a  good  deal 
Ikoning  comes,  I 
Ition  scale.    And 

we  were  disap- 

When  George 
srie  as  his  sole 
It  opportunity  he 


was  talking — it  was  all  of  this  new  project  that  had  seised  his 
imagination.  They  had  to  make  one  or  two  calls,  in  the  now 
gathering  dusk;  but  ever  as  they  came  out  again  into  the 
crowded  thoroughfares,  he  returned  to  the  old  ballads  and 
the  opportunities  they  presented  for  a  series  of  discursive 
papers.  And  Maisrie  was  about  as  eager  in  anticipation  as 
himself. 

"  Oh,  yes,  grandfather,"  she  said,  "  you  could  not  have  thought 
of  a  happier  subject  And  you  will  begin  at  once,  grandfather, 
won't  you  ?  Do  you  think  I  shall  be  able  to  help  you  in  the 
very  least  way  f  It  would  please  me  so  much  if  I  could  search 
out  things  for  yon,  or  copy,  or  help  you  in  the  smallest  way; 
And  I  know  it  will  be  a  labor  of  love  for  you  ;  it  will  be  a  con* 
slant  delight,  and  all  the  more  that  the  days  are  getting  short 
now,  and  we  shall  have  to  be  more  indoors.  And  then  yon  heard 
wliat  Mr.  Carmichael  said,  grandfather ;  and  if  he  is  going  to  pay 
you  well  for  these  articles,  you  will  soon  be  ahlA  to  give  him 
back  the  money  ho  advanced  to  you  about  that  unfortunate 
book—" 

"  Oh,  don't  you  bother  about  such  things !"  he  said,  with  an 
impatient  frown.  "  When  I  am  planning  out  an  important  work, 
I  don't  want  to  be  reminded  that  it  will  result  in  merely  so  many 
gaineas.  That  is  not  the  spirit  in  which  I  enter  upon  such  an 
undertaking.  When  I  write,  it  is  not  with  an  eye  to  the  kitchen. 
Unless  some  noble  impulse  propels,  then  be  sure  the  result  will 
be  despicable.  However,  I  suppose  women  are  like  that  When 
you  are  thinking  of  the  literature  of  your  native  land — or  per- 
haps adding  some  little  tributary  wreath — ^they  are  looking  tow- 
ards grocer's  bills.  The  kitchen — the  kitchen  is  before  them — 
not  the  dales  and  vales  of  Scotland,  where  lovers  loved,  and  were 
broken-hearted.     The  kitchen — " 

But  Maisrie  was  not  disconcerted  by  this  rebuke. 

"  And  you  will  begin  at  once,  grandfather,"  she  said,  cheer- 
fully. "  Oh,  I  know  it  will  be  so  delightful  an  occupation  for 
yo|^  And  I  don't  wonder  that  Mr.  Caj-michael  was  glad  to  have 
such  a  chance.  Then  it  won't  involve  any  expense  of  travelling, 
like  the  other  book  yon  thought  of,  about  the  Scotland  of  Scotch 
songs.  The  winter  evenings  won't  be  so  dull,  grandfather,  when 
you  have  this  to  occupy  you ;  you  will  forget  it  is  winter  alto- 
gether when  yon  are  basy  with  those  beautiful  scenes  and  stories. 


184 


ITAirO  FAST,  ORAIO-KOTBTOir  t 


I 
I 


And  will  you  tell  Vinoont  thia  evening,  grandfather!    He  will 
be  80  interested ;  it  will  be  itomething  to  talk  of  at  dinner." 

But  Vincent  was  to  hoar  of  this  great  undertaking  before 
then.  When  Maisrie  and  her  grandfather  reached  the  door  of 
their  lodgings,  he  said  to  her : 

"  You  can  go  in  now,  Maisrie,  and  have  the  gas  lit.  I  must 
walk  along  to  the  library,  and  see  what  books  they  have ;  but 
I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  get  Motherwell  and  Pinkerton  and 
Allan  Cunningham  and  the  rest  of  them  from  Scotland.  Aytoun 
they  are  sure  to  have,  I  suppose." 

So  they  parted  for  the  moment;  and  Maisrie  went  up-stairs 
and  lit  the  gas  in  the  little  parlor.  Then,  without  taking  off 
her  bonnet,  she  sat  down  and  fell  into  a  reverie — not  a  very  sad 
one,  as  it  seemed.  She  was  sitting  thus  absorbed  in  silent 
fancies,  when  a  familiar  sound  outside  startled  her  into  attention. 
She  sprang  to  her  feet.  The  next  instant  the  door  was  opened, 
the  next  again  she  was  advancing  to  the  tall  and  handsome 
young  stranger  who  stood  somewhat  diffidently  there,  and  both 
her  haids  were  outstretched,  and  a  light  of  joy  and  gratitude 
was  sL  ning  in  her  eyes. 

"  Ob,  Vincent,  I  am  so  glad  yon  have  come  over  I"  she  said, 
in  a  way  that  was  far  from  usual  with  her,  and  she  held  both  bis 
hands  for  more  than  a  second  or  two,  and  her  grateful  eyes  were 
fixed  on  his  without  any  thought  of  embarrassment.  *'  I  was 
thinking  of  you.  You  have  been  so  kind — so  generous.  I 
wanted  to  thank  you,  and  I  am  so  glad  to  have  the  chance — ^" 

"  But  what  is  it,  Maisrie !  I'm  sure  there  is  nothing  you  have 
to  thank  me  for,"  said  he,  as  he  shut  the  door  behind  him  and 
came  forward  and  took  a  seat  not  very  far  away  from  her.  He 
was  a  little  bewildered.  In  her  sudden  access  of  gratitude,  when 
she  took  both  his  hands  in  hers,  she  had  come  quite  close  to 
him;  and  the  scent  of  a  sandalwood  necklace  that  she  wore 
seemed  to  touch  him  as  with  a  touch  of  herself.  He  knew  those 
fragrant  beads ;  more  than  once  he  had  perceived  the  slight  and 
subtle  odor  as  she  passed  him,  or  as  he  helped  her  on  witl\^er 
cloak ;  and  be  had  come  to  associate  it  with  her,  as  if  it  were 
part  of  her,  some  breathing  thing,  that  could  touch  and  thrilL 
And  this  time  it  had  come  so  near — 

But  that  bewilderment  of  the  senses  lasted  only  for  a  mo- 
ment   Maisri^  Bethnne  was  not  near  to  him  at  ^1 ;  she  was 


•TAWO   FAST,  OKAIO-ROTjTOM  I 


111 


father!    He  will 
,f  at  dinner." 
dertaking  before 
Bhed  the  door  of 

gas  lit.  I  must 
}  they  have ;  but 
id  Pinkerton  and 
eotland.    Aytoun 

rie  went  up-stairs 
ithout  taking  off 
e_not  a  very  sad 
bsorbed  in  silent 
her  into  attention, 
door  was  opened, 
all  and  handsome 
ily  there,  and  both 
joy  and  gratitude 

le  over !"  she  said, 
d  she  held  both  his 
grateful  eyes  were 
aasment.     "I  was 
generous.     I 
ave  the  chance — 
B  nothing  you  have 
tr  behind  him  and 
tay  from  her.     He 

of  gratitude,  when 
•me  quite  close  to 
lace  that  she  wore 

If.     He  knew  those 

lived  the  slight  and 
[ed  her  on  witl\^er 
I  her,  as  if  it  were 

[d  touch  and  thrilL 

only  for  a  mo- 
limatall;  she  was 


worlds  and  worlds  away.  It  was  not  a  mere  wbiff  of  perfume 
that  could  bring  her  near  to  him.  Always  to  him  she  appeared 
to  be  strangely  unapproachable  and  remote.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
loneliness  of  her  position ;  perhaps  it  was  the  uncertainty  of  her 
future,  and  those  vague  possibilities  of  which  her  grandfather 
had  spoken ;  or  perhaps  it  was  the  reverence  of  undivided  and 
unselfish  love  on  his  part ;  but  at  all  events  she  seemed  to  live  in 
a  sort  of  sacred  and  mysterious  isolation — to  be  surrounded  by 
a  spell  which  he  dared  not  seek  to  break  by  y  rude  contact. 
And  yet  surely  her  eyes  were  regarding  his  with  sufficient  frank- 
ncss  and  friendliness,  and  even  more  than  friendliness,  now  as 
she  spoke. 

"  This  afternoon  we  called  on  Mr.  Carmichael,"  said  Maisrie, 
"  Mr.  Carmichael  of  the  Edinhurgh  Chronicle.  He  told  us  some 
one  had  offered  to  repay  the  money  he  had  advanced  to  my 
p;randfather  on  account  of  that  American  book  ;  and  though  he 
(lid  not  mention  any  name,  do  yon  think  I  did  not  know  who  it 
was,  Vincent  ?  Be  sure  I  knew — in  a  moment  t  And  yon  never 
said  a  word  about  it !  I  might  never  have  known  but  for  this 
accident — I  might  never  have  had  the  chance  of  thanking  you — 
as — as  I  should  like  to  do  now — only — only  it  isn't  quite  easy 
to  say  every  kbing  one  feels — " 

"  Oh,  but  that  is  nothing  all,  Maisrie  I"  said  he,  coming 
quickly  to  her  rescue.  "  You  have  nothing  to  thank  me  for — 
nothing !  It  is  true  I  made  the  offer,  but  it  was  not  accepted ; 
and  why  should  I  say  anything  about  it  to  you?" 

*'  Ah,  but  the  intention  is  enough,"  said  she  (for  she  knew 
nothing  about  bis  having  paid  Lord  Musselburgh  the  £50). 
"  And  you  cannot  prevent  my  being  very,  very  grateful  to  yon 
for  such  thoughtf  nlness  and  kindness.  To  save  my  grandfather's 
self-respect — to  prevent  him  being  misunderstood  by — by  stran- 
gers— because — because  be  is  so  forgetful — do  you  think,  Vin- 
cent, I  cannot  see  your  motive,  and  be  very,  very  grateful  t  And 
never  saying  a  word,  too !  Yon  should  have  told  me,  Vincent ! 
But  I  suppose  that  was  still  further  kindness — ^you  thought  I 
might  be  embarrassed — and  not  able  to  thank  yon — which  is 
just  the  case — " 

"Oh,  Maisrie,  don't  make  a  fuss  about  nothing  I*'  he  pro- 
tested.   . 

"  I  know  whether  it  i»  notbing^or  not,"  said  she,  proudly. 


w^ 


Iff 


ITAITD  rAtr,  OKAIO-MTITOiri 


"  And — and  perbapH  if  you  had  lived  aa  wo  hare  lived — wan. 
daring  from  place  to  place — you  would  set  more  atore  by  an 
act  of  f  riendabip.  Friends  are  little  to  yon — you  have  too  many 
of  them—" 

"  Oh,  Maiarie,  don't  Ulk  like  that !"  ho  said.  "  Yon  make 
me  aabamcd.  What  have  1  done  t — nothing  I  I  wiah  there  was 
■ome  real  thing  I  could  do  to  prove  my  friendship  for  your 
grandfather  and  yourself — then  you  might  see — " 

"  Haven't  you  proved  it  every  day,  every  hour  almost,  since 
ever  we  have  known  you  t"  she  said,  in  rather  a  low  voice. 

"  Ah,  well,  perhaps  there  may  come  a  chance — "  said  he,  and 
then  be  stopped  short ;  for  bore  was  old  Oeorge  Bethune,  with 
half  a  dozen  volumes  under  his  arm,  and  himself  all  eage:'ne88 
and  garrulity  about  his  new  undertaking. 

At  the  little  dinner  that  evening  in  the  restaurant,  there  was 
quite  an  unusual  animation,  and  that  not  solely  because  this  was 
the  0th  of  November,  and  they  were  proposing  to  go  out  later 
on  and  look  at  the  illuminations  in  the  principal  thoroughfares. 
Vincent  thought  he  had  never  seen  Maisrie  Bethune  appear  so 
light-hearted  and  happy ;  and  she  was  particularly  kind  to  him. 
When  she  regarded  bim,  there  still  seemed  to  be  a  mild  grati* 
tude  shining  in  the  clear  and  eloquent  deeps  of  her  eyes. 
*'  Qratitudo  for  what  t"  he  asked  himself,  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 
It  was  but  an  ordinary  act  of  acqniintanceabip.  Why  should 
this  beantiful,  sensitive,  proudspirited  creature  have  to  debase 
herself  to  thank  him  for  such  a  trifle !  He  felt  ashamed  of  him- 
self. It  was  earning  gratitude  by  false  pretences.  The  very 
kindness  shining  there  in  her  eyes  was  a  sort  of  reproach.  What 
had  he  done  to  deserve  it  ?  Ah,  if  she  only  knew  what  he  was 
ready  to  do — when  occasion  offered ! 

And  never  before  had  he  seen  Maisrie  so  bravely  confident 
about  any  of  her  grandfather's  literary  projects. 

"  You  see,  Vincent,"  she  said,  as  if  he  needed  any  convinc- 
ing, when  she  was  satisfied,  '*  in  the  end  it  will  make  a  far  more 
interesting  book  than  the  Scotch-American  one;  and  in  the 
meantime  there  will  be  the  series  of  articles  appearing  from 
week  to  week,  to  attract  attention  to  the  subject  And  then, 
although  grandfather  says  I  take  a  low  and  mercenary  view 
of  literature,  all  the  same  I  am  glad  he  is  to  be  well  paid 
for  the  articles,  and  there  are  to  be  as  many  as  he  likes ;  and 


MAND  FAtT,  0«Ata*»OTtTOII  I 


w 


hare  lived — wan- 
more  utore  by  an 
on  have  too  many 

lid.     "Yon  make 

I  wiah  there  was 

iondBhip  for  your 

bonr  almost,  since 
r  a  low  voice, 
je— "  said  he,  and 
rge  Bethune,  with 
nself  all  eageness 

itaurant,  there  was 
ly  because  this  was 
ing  to  go  out  later 
ipal  thoroughfares. 
Bethune  appear  so 
ularly  kind  to  him. 
to  be  a  mild  grati- 
Bcps  of  her  eyes. 
|h  a  touch  of  scorn, 
ihip.     Why  should 
|uro  have  to  debase 
lit  ashamed  of  him- 
itences.     The  very 
if  reproach.    What 
knew  what  he  was 

bravely  confident 
kts. 

jcdfcd  any  convinc- 
[ill  make  a  far  more 
one;  and  in  the 
ties  appearing  from 
(ubject  And  then, 
jd  mercenary  view 
lis  to  be  well  paid 
\y  as  he  likes;  and 


when  they  are  oomploted,  then  comes  the  publication  of  the 
hook,  which  should  bo  as  interesting  to  Mr.  Carmiohael,  or 
Lord  MuBsolburgh,  or  any  ui.  ,  as  the  Scotch-American  volume. 
And  grandfather  is  going  to  begin  at  once;  and  I  am  ask- 
ing him  whether  I  cannot  be  of  any  use  to  him,  in  the  hum* 
liluHt  way.  A  glossary,  grandfather;  you  must  have  a 
glossary  of  the  Scotch  words.  Couldn't  I  compile  that  for 
yoiif" 

"  I  have  been  wondering,"  the  old  man  snid,  absently,  and 
without  answering  her  question,  "since  I  came  into  this  room, 
wliether  it  would  be  possible  to  classify  them  into  ballads  of 
action  and  ballads  of  the  supernatural.  I  imagine  the  former 
belong  more  to  the  South  Country,  and  that  most  of  the  latter 
had  their  origin  in  the  North.  And  yet  oven  in  the  *  Battle  of 
Utterburn '  the  Douglas  says : 

" '  But  I  have  dreamed  a  drearjr  dream, 
Ajont  the  Isle  o'  Skyo —  . 

I  law  a  detd  man  win  a  flght,  *  "•>  '"^' 

I,-,..   y]'i>yi  v^tir  And  I  think  that  roan  waa  I.'       4^    i^' 

Well,  that  may  have  boon  an  interpolation ;  at  all  events,  it  is  a 
Highland  touch.  Tho  strong,  brisk,  matter-of-fact  Border  bal- 
lad has  seldom  anything  of  that  kind  in  it.  The  bold  Buccleuch 
nnd  Kinmont  Willie  werb  too  much  in  the  saddle  to  have  time 
for  wraiths.  Tou  remember,  Maisrie,  when  ihey  brought  word 
to  'the  bauld  Keeper'  that  Kinmont  Willie  was  a  captive  in 

Carlisle  Castle  f—  -  ' 

,"'.     '■  -.   :. ...    ,  -*  -.■"  .    ^r  -......■  r..'^r     .  ■ 

"' He  hai  ta'en  the  table  wi*  hli  hand, 
He  garred  the  red  wine '~rlng  on  hie; 
"  Now,  a  euree  upon  my  nead,"  he  cried,  '" ' ' 

"  But  avenged  on  Lord  Scroop  I'll  be  I 

"  * "  Oh,  b  my  basnet  a  widow'a  curoh, 
,.0r  my  lance  a  wand  of  the  willow-tree, 
Or  my  arm  a  lady's  lily  hand. 
That  an  English  lord  should  licbtly  me  f" ' 

That  is  more  like  the  ballad  of  the  South — sharp  and  vivid,  full 
of  action  and  spirit,  and  tho  audacious  delight  of  life.  When 
you  want  mystery  and  imagination  and  supernatural  terrors  you 
must  turn  to  the  brooding  and  darkened  regions  of  the  North. 
The  *  Demon  Lover'  is  clearly  of  Northern  origin ;  its  hell  is 


■TAND   FAaT,  ORAIO-ROVITOIf  I 


the  Scandinavian  hell ;  not  the  flory  furnace  of  the  Eastern  mind, 
but  a  desolation  of  cold  and  wet : 

" '" 0  whRt  n'a  mounUln'i  yon," nho  utld, 
"8»e  dreary  wl' <roit  and  •now?" 
" 0  yon  U  the  mountain  o' hell,"  he  oricd,         r,   '  >,4'^^.; 
"  Where  you  and  I  maun  go  r ' " 

" '  The  Demon  Lover  t' "  said  Maisrio,  inquiringly  ;  and  Yin- 
cent  could  not  but  notice  how  skilfully  and  sedulously  she  fanned 
the  old  man's  interest  in  this  new  scheme  by  herself  pretending 
to  bo  deeply  interested. 

*'  Don't  you  know  it,  Maisrie  t"  said  he.  It  is  the  story  of 
two  lovers  who  were  parted,  and  ho  returns  after  seven  years  to 
claim  the  fulfilment  of  her  vows,  and  finds  that  in  his  absence 
she  has  taken  some  one  else  for  her  husband.  It  is  a  danger- 
ous position,  if  ho  wishes  her  to  go  away  with  him,  for  a  woman 
never  forgetH  her  first  lover.  What  is  more,  she  attributes  all 
the  natural  and  inevitable  disillusionment  of  marriage  to  her 
husband,  while  the  romance  attaching  to  her  first  love  remains 
undimmed.  Therefore,  I  say,  let  Auld  Robin  Gray  beware  1 
The  wife  is  not  always  so  loyal  to  the  disillusionizer  as  was  the 
Jeannio  of  the  modern  song.  Well,  in  this  case  she  who  has 
been  a  false  sweetheart  proves  a  false  wife : 

iv          " ' "  If  I  wai  to  leave  my  husband  dear,  '  I 

And  my  twa  babea  alio,  "tj^^jiir^/ 

0  where  ii  it  you  would  tak' no  to  .V*i  »'<v' 

If  I  with  thee  should  go?"'  r-;..» 

And  the  lover  becomes  the  avenger ;  together  they  sail  away  on 
a  strange  ship,  until  they  descry  the  mountains  of  hell,  and  the 
lover,  turned  demon,  warns  her  of  her  doom : 

"' And  aye  when  she  turned  her  round  about,  :4> 

Aye  taller  he  leemed  for  to  be,  ;./ 

lintil  that  the  tope  o*  that  gallant  ihlp 
%  Nae  taller  were  than  he.  * 

'"  He  struck  the  topmast  wi' hii  hand,  -. 
'' '  The  foremast  wi'  his  knee ; 

.>  ''  ^"\    And  he  brak'  that  galUnt  ship  in  twain, 

And  sank  her  in  the  sea.' "  ,      . 

"  Will  there  be  illustrations,  sir !"  asked  Tincent  (in  humble 
imitation  of  Maisrie).    "And  an  Mition  da  lusef    For  that,  I 


'lit:  ^r  {*■■/; 


•TAiro  FAIT,  0»AIO-«OTSTOII  I 


18t 


tho  Eastern  mind, 

Id,  '■;'■'■■ '1'/ 

■      .(.'..,-  rr  ■ 

liringly ;  »nd  "VIn- 
ulously  she  fanned 
Leraelf  pretending 

[t  ifl  the  Btory  of 
fter  seTon  yean  to 
hat  in  his  absencu 
i.  It  is  a  danger- 
I  him,  for  a  woman 
I,  she  attributes  all 
)f  marriage  to  her 
r  first  love  remains 
bin  Gray  beware! 
isionizer  as  was  the 
case  she  who  has 


ear, 
to 


.1* 


I 


.u 


t  they  sail  away  on 
ins  of  hell,  and  the 

ndtboat,  -J^ 

'.  -■''''■■ 

tshlp 

nd, 
1  twain, 

rinccnt  (in  humble 
lusef    For  that,  I 


imagine,  is  where  my  co-operation  might  come  in.     Maisrie 
Hcums  so  anxious  to  help,  and  I  should  like  to  take  my  part 

too. 


It 


"  It  ifl  a  far  cry  to  the  completion  of  such  an  undertaking  as 
that,"  said  the  old  man,  rather  wistfully. 

Hut  Maisrie  would  not  have  him  lapse  into  any  despondent 
mood. 

"  You  must  not  look  so  far  ahead,  grandfather,"  she  said, 
cheerfully.  "  You  must  think  of  your  own  pride  and  satisfac- 
tion in  beginning  it,  and  I  know  you  will  be  delighted  ;  for  who 
cun  do  it  as  well  as  you?  And  if  I  am  so  very  mercenary,  I 
can't  help  it ;  only  I  shall  be  all  the  better  pleased  to  remem< 
bcr  that  you  are  being  well  paid  for  your  work.  Supposing  the 
kitchen  is  my  department  t  Oh,  very  well  I  somebody  must 
look  to  that  It  will  be  a  labor  of  love  for  you,  grandfather,  all 
tho  way  through ;  and  then,  when  the  book  is  nearing  comple< 
tion,  just  think  of  tho  pride  you  wiil  have  in  choosing  sorne  on« 
—some  distinguished  person — for  the  dedication.  It  v>ill  bfl 
far  more  yoor  own  work  than  merely  giving  specimens  of  the 
Scottish-American  poets.  Indeed,  it  will  bo  all  your  own;  for 
the  ballads  are  only  to  be  texts,  as  you  say.  And  I  think  we 
should  go  home  now,  and  you  will  look  over  some  of  the  books. 
I  don't  care  about  the  illi^minations — not  I.  What  is  the  Lord 
Mayor's  Day  to  Vincent  or  me,  when  you  might  be  telling  us 
about  Katharine  Janfarie  and  May  Collean  t" 

"  No,  no,  Maisrie,"  said  he,  as  he  rose  from  the  table.  "  Give 
me  a  little  time  for  preparation.  We  promised  to  show  yoa 
the  streets  lit  up.  And  mind  you  wrap  yourself  well,  Maisrie, 
for  the  evenings  are  getting  cold  now." 

But  little  did  Vincent  Harris,  as  he  helped  her  on  with  her 
cloak,  and  made  ready  to  go  out  into  the  dusky  and  glaring 
thoroughfares,  foresee  what  was  going  to  befall  him  that  night. 

When  they  issued  forth  into  Regent  Street  there  was  as  yet 
no  very  dense  crowd,  though  here  and  there  the  front  of  a  great 
building  flamed  in  yellow  fire ;  but  nevertheless  Maisrie  said, 

"  We  most  not  get  separated,  grandfather.  Let  me  go  be- 
tween yon  two ;  and  I  will  take  your  arm  on  the  one  side  and 
Vincent's  on  the  other ;  and  if  we  have  occasionally  to  go  side- 
ways, we  can  always  keep  together." 

"  Oh,  I  sha'n't  let  yoa  be  dragged  away,  Maisrie,"  tho  younger 


w^ 


100 


tTAHD   rABT,  ORAIO-HOTBTOM  I 


man  said.  "  And  if  yon  donH  mind,  I  think  this  will  be  a  better 
way  of  holding  on  to  you — "  and  therewith  he  made  bold  to 
pass  his  hand  underneath  the  hanging  sleeve  of  her  cloak, 
and  there  he  took  hold  of  her  arm  from  the  inside  —  rather 
timidly,  perhaps,  but  then  his  grasp  could  be  tightened,  if  needs 
were. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  placidly,  and  she  make  a  little  movement  as 
though  she  would  draw  both  her  companions  closer  to  her. 
"  This  is  very  comfortable.     Which  way,  grandfather  f" 

And  BO  the  little  group  of  friends,  knit  together  by  many  in- 
timate interests  and  much  association,  adventured  out  into  the 
great  world  of  London  that  was  all  astir  now  with  a  vague  and 
half -subdued  excitement.  There  was  no  need  for  them  to  talk ; 
they  had  but  to  look  at  the  blazing  stars  and  feathers  and  initial 
letters,  and  to  make  their  way  through  the  murmuring  throng. 
There  was  no  jostling ;  the  crowd  was  entirely  good-natured ; 
and  if  these  three  could  not  always  go  abrec:',  they  then  went 
diagonally  for  a  second  or  so,  and  were  not  separated.  Of  course, 
Vincent  had  to  hold  Maisrie  a  little  more  firmly  now ;  his  arm 
was  parallel  with  hers,  and  his  hand  had  hold  of  her  wrist ;  and 
there  was  an  intoxicating  sense  of  warmth  as  well  as  of  close 
companionship  in  thi;°i  mutual  clinging.  And  so  they  slowly 
and  idly  passed  away  down  Regent,  Street,  well  content  with 
their  own  silence  and  the  brilliant  sights  around  them.  Then  a 
little  incident  occurred.  A  vehicle  was  coming  along  one  of  the 
smaller  thoroughfares  they  had  to  cross ;  there  was  a  brief  bit 
of  a  scrimmage ;  and  Maisrie,  the  better  to  keep  hold  of  her 
companion,  slipped  her  hand  from  the  mnff  that  was  slung  round 
her  neck  and  seized  his  hand,  that  was  ready  enough,  be  sure, 
to  respond.  They  got  over  without  further  trouble ;  they  mixed 
once  more  in  this  vast,  slow-moving  assemblage — only  he  re- 
tained the  hiind  she  had  given  him,  and  that  with  no  uncertain 
grasp. 

It  was  a  wonderful,  mysterioas,  secret  thing  to  be  happening 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  great,  careless,  dusky  crowd.  Her  hand, 
that  was  ungloved,  was  soft  and  warm  after  coming  oat  of  its 
cosy  resting-place ;  and  it  was  not  likely  to  get  cold,  when  it 
was  held  so  tight,  under  the  concealment  of  the  hanging  sleeve. 
And  then — well,  probably  the  girl  did  not  know  what  she  was 
doing ;  she  was  affected  by  all  this  excitement  around  her ;  it 


.j.am.iJjJiiJiiyii«M 


ff.Mf^^!2WT~ 


TOHi 

nk  this  will  be  a  better 
nrith  he  made  bold  to 
sleeve  of  her  cloak, 
m  the  inside  —  rather 
I  be  tightened,  if  needs 

:e  a  little  movement  as 
lanions  closer  to  her. 
,  grandfather !" 
t  together  by  many  in- 
dventared  out  into  the 
now  with  a  vague  and 
need  for  them  to  talk ; 
and  feathers  and  initial 
the  murmuring  throng, 
entirely  good-natured ; 
ibrec:',,  they  then  went 
;  separated.  Of  course, 
•e  firmly  now ;  his  arm 
hold  of  her  wrist ;  and 
ath  as  well  as  of  close 
And  so  they  slowly 
reet,  well  content  with 
around  them.  Then  a 
aming  along  one  of  the 
;  there  was  a  brief  bit 
r  to  keep  hold  of  her 
rff  that  was  slung  round 
ready  enough,  be  sure, 
[er  trouble ;  they  mixed 
semblage — only  he  re- 
that  with  no  uncertain 

thing  to  be  happening 
sky  crowd.  Her  hand, 
kfter  coming  out  of  its 
y  to  get  cold,  when  it 
t  of  the  hanging  sleeve, 
ot  know  what  she  was 
tement  around  her;  it 


STAND   FAST,  CRAIO-BOTSTONI 


191 


was  "Look,  grandfather,  look  I"  from  time  to  time ;  most  likely 
she  thought  no  more  of  her  hand  being  held  than  if  she  were 
crossing  a  meadow  it  the  spring-time  with  some  careless  jrirl- 
companion-but  however  that  may  be,  what  must  she  do  but 
open  he.r  fingers,  so  that  his  should  interclasp  with  hers !    Nay 
she  opened  them  again,  and  shut  them  again,  the  better  to  ad- 
]iis  that  gentle  clasp ;  and  every  touch  thrilled  through  him,  so 
hat  he  walked  as  one  in  a  dream.     He  dared  hardly  breathe 
he  durst  not  speak,  lest  some  stray  word  of  his  might  startle  her 
into  consciousness,  and  shatter  this  miracle.     She  did  not  seem 
to  be  m  the  least  aware-it  was  "Which  way,  grandfather f 
or  "Take  care,  grandfather  I"  and  her  eyes  were  turned  to  the 
brilliant  and  parti-colored  devices  in  front  of  the  Pall  Mall  clubs 
and  not  at  lUl  to  the  handsome  lad  who  walked  so  close  to  her 
that  now  and  again  he  could  detect  some  faint  trace  of  the  odor 
of  sandal  wood  that  seemed  to  hover  around  her  neck  and  her  hair. 
VVhat  did  he  see  or  hear  of  the  crowd  now,  or  of  the  garish 
ights  along  the  houses?    He  walked  in  an  enchanted  land- 
there  were  only  two  people  in  it ;  and  they  were  bound  together 
m  subtle  intercommunion,  by  this  magic  grasp.      There  was 
wonder  as  well  as  joy  in  his  mind;  the  sensation  was  so  new 
and  strange.    Did  he  remember  that «  palm  to  palm  "  was  "  holy 

tfarrn  M  M  •  ^"l  \'  T*"^*'*^  nothing-he  only  knei 
hat  he  held  Maisne's  hand  interlocked  with  his,  in  this  secret 
fashion;  and  that  aU  the  wild  phantasmagoria  around  them  was 
something  unreal  and  visionary  with  which  neither  he  nor  she 
had  any  concern. 

And  even  now  his  cup  of  bliss  and  bewilderment  was  not 
yet  full  on  this  marvelbus  night.  When  at  last  they  drew  away 
from  the  crowded  streets  and  found  themselves  in  qui-/r 
thoroughfares  on  their  way  home,  the  old  mftn  drew  a  breath 

"This  is  better,  Maisrie,"  he  said.  "It  seems  as  if  we  had 
been  out  on  a  roaring  sea,  and  had  at  length  drifted  into  stillness 
and  peace. 

"Auid  we  were  not  separated  once,  grandfather,"  said  she. 

cheerfuUy.     "Not  once  aU  the  time." 
And  then  it  was  Vincent  who  spoke.  ■ 

"I  don't  see  why  we  should  ever  separate,"  said  he.    "  Friends 

are  few  enough  in  this  world."  - , ,  7    »   , ; 


192 


BTAMO   rAST,  ORAIO-ROTaTOIT  I 


! 


"Yes,  indeed,  good  friends  are  few,"  Maisrie  said ;  %nd  there- 
withal, ere  he  could  tell  what  was  happening,  she  h:A  taken  his 
hand  thftt  she  held  in  hers  and  raised  it,  and  for  one  brief  mo- 
ment pressed  it  against  her  heart  The  little  impalsive  move- 
ment—  of  gratitude  perhaps,  perhaps  of  affection,  perhaps  of 
both  combined — could  not  have  been  perceived  by  any  passer- 
by ;  and  yet  the  young  man  seemed  to  be  struck  by  a  sudden 
shock  of  fear ;  he  could  not  speak ;  his  own  heart  was  beating 
Bo  that  speech  was  impossible  For  it  appeared  to  him  in  that 
swift  second  as  if  the  scales  had  fallen  from  his  eyes.  To  him 
she  was  uo  longer  an  elusive  phantom,  a  mirage,  a  vision,  pen- 
sive, and  mysterious,  and  remote.  Now  he  saw  her  a  beautiful 
young  creature  of  flesh  and  blood,  whose  hands  and  heart  were 
warm,  who  could  cling  for  help  and  companionship  and  sym- 
pathy, who  was  not  afraid  to  speak  and  act  when  love  or  grati- 
tude prompted  her.  No  longer  the  strangely  isolated  maiden — 
the  unapproachable  had  all  at  once  come  near — so  near  that  the 
scent  of  sandalwood  touched  him  from  time  to  time ;  so  near 
that  her  soft  fingers  were  interclasped  with  ^lis,  pulsating  there, 
nestling  there,  not  relaxing  their  hold,  nor  inclined  to  do  that. 
This  was  no  piece  of  statuary,  to  be  worshipped  from  afar — this 
was  Maisrie  Bethune,  whoso  arm  lay  close  and  caressing  against 
his,  under  the  friendly  shelter  of  that  hanging  sleeve,  whose 
step  went  with  his  st«p  as  they  walked  together,  whose  breath- 
ing he  could  almost  overhear  in  the  silence  of  this  gracious 
night     And  what  had  she  not  confessed  in  that  artless  way ! 

And  then  amid  all  his  bewilderment  and  breathless  exultation 
a  horrid  fancy  shot  through  his  bn.in.  Perhaps  that  was  no 
confession  at  all,  but  a  quite  simple,  unpremeditat«d,  perhaps 
even  unconscious,  act  of  mere  friendliness  and  sympathy  t  Did 
she  know  that  she  had  done  it !  Would  she  repeat  it  t  Would 
she  give  him  further  assurance  t  Might  she  not  herself  wish  to 
be  certain  that  he  had  understood — ^that  he  had  received  a  mes- 
sage that  was  to  change  all  his  life  t 

Well,  he  had  hold  of  her  hand.  Oently  and  with  trembling 
and  eager  touch  he  tried  to  raise  it — he  would  have  her  replace 
his  own  hand  where  that  bad  been  for  one  delirious  moment — 
perhaps  to  ask  if  her  heart  had  still,  and  forever  and  always, 
the  same  message  to  send.  Alks,  she  did  not  yield  to  the  mute 
invitation  I    Perhaps  she  did  not  comprehend  it   For  here  they 


WM 


8TAHD   FABT,  OBAIO-BOTSTOK  t 


198 


ie  said ;  and  there- 
she  h:ji.  taken  his 
I  for  one  brief  mo- 
le impnlsive  move- 
Eection,  perhaps  of 
ived  by  any  passer- 
struck  by  a  sudden 
1  heart  was  beating 
iared  to  him  in  that 
I  his  eyes.    To  him 
irage,  a  vision,  pen- 
saw  her  a  beaatif  al 
ands  and  heart  were 
lanionship  and  sym- 
;  when  love  or  gjrati- 
ly  isolated  maiden — 
.gr — so  near  that  the 
Die  to  time ;  so  near 
;  ^is,  pulsating  there, 
'  inclined  to  do  that, 
jped  from  afar — this 
ind  caressing  against 
mging  sleeve,  whose 
;ether,  whose  breath- 
nce  of  this  gracious 
ti  that  artless  way ! 
breathless  exultation 
'erhaps  that  was  no 
iremeditated,  perhaps 
and  sympathy  t    Did 
le  repeat  it  t   Would 
le  not  herself  wuh  to 
had  received  a  mes- 

and  with  trembling 
ouild  have  her  replace 

delirious  moment — 

forever  and  always, 
[not  yield  to  the  mute 

ndit   For  here  they 


were  at  the  comer  of  the  little  street  in  which  they  lived ;  and 
-ibo  unclasped  her  fingers,  so  that  bis  also  might  be  released 
from  their  too  happy  imprisonment ;  and  she  was  talking  to  her 
grandfather  when  the  door  of  the  house  was  reached.  Nor  did 
her  eyes  say  anything  as  he  bade  her  good-bye  for  the  night. 
Perhaps  it  was  all  a  mistake,  then  ? — some  little  involuntary  act 
of  kindness,  and  nothing  more  f 


s.'Sl, 


m 


J«!  i . 


...v. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 


INTKRPOSITIOH. 


Yks,  she  had  come  near — so  near  that  shv  seemed  to  absorb 
his  very  life.  He  could  think  of  nothing  but  her.  As  he  walked 
away  down  through  the  dark  streets,  he  imagined  her  to  be  still  by 
his  side ;  he  tried  to  fancy  he  could  detect  some  faint  perfume 
of  sandalwood  in  the  surrounding  air;  his  right  hand  tingled 
yet  with  the  touch  of  her  warm,  interclasping  fingers.  And  if 
at  one  moment  his  heart  beat  high  with  the  assurance  that  she 
had  confessed  her  love  and  given  herself  to  him,  the  next  he  tor- 
tured himself  with  vague  alarms,  and  wondered  how  the  long 
night  was  to  be  got  through  before  he  could  go  up  to  her  in  the 
morning,  and  challenge  her  to  speak.  All  the  future  was  filled 
with  her,  and  there  again  he  saw  himself  by  her  side,  her  strong 
and  confident  protector.  And  yet  if  he  had  mistaken  that  mute 
little  declaration  of  hers !  What  if,  after  all,  it  were  merely  s 
timid  expression,  involuntary,  unpremeditated,  of  her  friendship, 
her  kindness,  her  gratitude ! 

Well,  he  knew  he  could  get  no  confirmation  of  either  his  au- 
dacious hopes  or  his  depressing  fears  until  the  next  day ;  and 
as  the  alternation  between  the  two  moods  was  altogether  a  mad- 
dening thing,  he  resolved  to  seek  relief  and  distraction.  As  soon 
as  he  got  to  his  own  room  down  in  Orosvenor  Place  he  took  out 
a  foolscap  sheet  of  paper  which  had  certain  peuciUings  on  it. 
These  formed,  in  fact,  an  outline  sketch  of  a  lecture  which  he 
had  undertaken  to  deliver  before  the  Mendover  Free  library 
Association,  and  it  was  high  time  he  was  getting  on  with  it,  for 
the  meeting  was  to  be  held  in  the  following  week.  But  strange 
things  happened  with  this  sheet  of  paper.  Ap^^Arently,  the  pen- 
I 


■% 


■  "it 


... 


wr 


194 


BTAim  TXVt,  OKAIO-BOrSTOVI 


oilled  heading  was  *'  The  TJnaenipaloasneBS  of  Wealth  ;**  bat  the 
longer  he  looked  at  the  title,  the  more  clearly  did  it  apell  ont 
"Maiarie  Bethane."  The  sab -headings,  too,  began  to  reveal 
hidden  mysteries.  Here  was  one  which  on  the  face  of  it  read, 
"  CtrcHtnttanees  in  vtkieh  the  eapitalut  may  heeome  a  tj^rant  in 
trpiU  of  himtel/."  But  behold !  that  scrawl  slowly  disappeared, 
and  in  its  place  a  picture  grew  into  existence.  He  seemed  to 
recognize  the  big  gray  building — was  it  not  the  mansion-house 
of  Balloray  f — and  well  he  knew  the  figure  of  the  tall  young  girl 
with  the  long,  flowing  hair,  who,  in  riding-habit,  came  ont  on  to 
the  terrace  above  the  wide  stone  steps.  Is  this  her  grandfather, 
proud-featured,  lion-hearted,  with  the  same  undaunted  demeaaor 
as  of  old,  come  to  wave  her  good-bye !  The  splendor  of  the 
morning  is  all  around  her ;  there  is  a  white  road  outside  the 
grounds,  and  an  avenue  of  beech-trees  dappled  with  sun  and 
shade ;  when  she  vanishes  into  that  wonderland  of  foliage  she 
seems  to  take  the  light  of  day  away  with  her.  And  again,  what 
further  miracle  is  this  f  Another  vision  interposes,  and  at  length 
becomes  dominant ;  and  this  one  is  very  different.  This  one  is 
of  a  street  in  Toronto.  And  here,  also,  is  a  young  girl ;  but  nov 
she  is  all  in  black,  and  she  is  alone — she  knows  not  one  of 
those  passers-by.  Pale  and  pensive,  she  walks  on ;  her  eyes 
are  downcast;  perhaps  she  is  thinking  of  wide  intervening 
seas,  and  of  her  loneliness,  and  of  one  who  used  to  be  her 
friend.  Tears! — but  of  what  avail  are  these,  here  in  this 
strange  city } — they  are  only  a  confession  of  helplessness,  per- 
haps of  despair. 

Vincent  Harris  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room.  At  this 
rate  the  Members  qf  the  Mendover  Free  Library  Association 
were  not  likely  to  receive  much  instructioA ;  and,  indeed,  he  did 
not  return  to  that  sheet  of  foolscap ;  his  brain  could  conjure 
ap  quite  sufficient  visions  of  the  future  without  having  recourse 
to  any  palimpsest  discoveries ;  while  as  for  his  hand — ^well,  pef 
haps  the  hand  that  Maisrie  had  held  over  her  heart  for  O'je  wild, 
startling  moment  was  a  little  too  unsteady  to  use  a  peaciL  If 
qnly  the  hours  would  go  by  1  He  tried  to  read,  and  eoold  not 
He  got  hold  oi  a  map  of  Scotiand,  and  traced  ont  the  line  of 
travel  he  should  like  to  follow  if  Maisrie  and  her  grandfather 
and  himself  should  ever  start  on  their  long-projected  toar.  He 
turned  to  a  map  of  the  United  States  and  sought  ont  Omaha. 


HMM 


HMwpqi 


8TAIID   rAVr,  OBAIO-EOTSTOiri 


108 


of  Wealth;"  but  the 
xly  did  it  spell  ont 
oo,  began  to  reveal 

the  face  of  it  read, 
r  become  a  tyrant  in 

sloirly  disappeared, 
ace.     He  seemed  to 
t  the  mansion-house 
of  the  tall  young  girl 
labit,  came  out  on  to 
this  her  grandfather, 
undaunted  demeanor 
The  splendor  of  the 
ite  rofkd  outside  the 
ippled  with  son  and 
erland  of  foliage  she 
er.     And  again,  what 
erposes,  and  at  length 
iffercnt.    This  one  is 

young  girl;  but  now 
e  knows  not  one  of 

walks  on;  her  eyes 

of  wide  intervening 

who  used  to  be  her 

these,  here  in  this 

of  helplessness,  per- 

t  the  room.    At  this 

Library  Association 

;  and,  indeed,  he  did 

brain  conld  conjure 

tout  having  recourse 

r  his  hand — ^well,  pe» 

ler  heart  for  o'je  wild, 

r  to  use  a  peaciL    li 

}  read,  and  conid  not 

m:ed  out  the  line  of 

and  her  grandfather 

j-projected  tour.     He 

d  sought  out  Omaha. 


Maisrie's  birth-place  was  not  distinguished  by  any  difference  of 
type,  and  yet  he  regarded  those  five  letters  witb  a  curious  inter- 
est and  fascination.  He  recalled  his  having  stood  on  the  heights 
of  Council  Bluffs,  and  looked  across  the  yellow  Missouri ;  and 
now  he  marvelled  that  ho  could  have  contemplated  the  wide, 
straggling  city  with  comparative  indifference.  Perhaps,  by  dili- 
gent seeking  on  the  morrow — for  the  capital  city  of  Nebraska  is 
au  important  place — he  might  even  in  London  discover  a  photo- 
graph or  two  to  put  on  his  mantelshelf;  and  then  he  could 
stand  opposite  them  and  say,  '*  Why,  Maisrie  must  have  passed 
that  railway-station  many  a  time !"  or  "  Maisrie  mnst  often  have 
looked  up  to  the  spire  of  the  High  School,  there  on  the  hill." 
To  think  that  ho  had  been  twice  in  Omaha  without  caring,  with- 
out knowing !  And  so  bis  eyes  rested  on  this  little  word  in  the 
middle  of  the  big  map ;  but  his  imagination  was  far  away. 

Well,  the  longest  night  must  have  an  end ;  and  yet  the  new 
dawn  brought  no  surcease  to  his  anxieties,  for  how  was  he  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  speaking  with  Maisrie  alone  ?  He  was 
up  in  the  little  Mayfair  street  betimes,  and  made  some  pretence 
of  beginning  work ;  but  that  was  soon  abandoned.  He  could 
not  keep  his  eyes  on  any  book  or  paper  when  there  were  those 
two  windows  over  the  way.  When  would  she  appear  there  to 
water  the  chrysanthemnms  in  the  little  balcony  t  If  she  acci- 
dentally caught  sight  of  him,  might  not  some  tell-tale  flush  reveal 
all  he  wanted  to  know  f  Or  she  might  be  coming  ont  on  some 
errand,  so  that  he  could  quickly  follow  her ;  or  perhaps  her 
grandfather  might  be  going  to  the  library,  leaving  her  at  home 
by  herself.  The  door  of  the  house  oppobite  grew  to  be  as  fas- 
cinating as  the  windows ;  unknown  possibilities  might  be  sprung 
upon  him  at  any  moment. 

It  was  quite  a  cheerful  morning  for  London  in  November.  If 
pale  mists  hung  about  the  thoroughfares,  at  least  some  trace  of 
blue  was  discernible  overhead  ;  and  on  the  panes  of  the  higher 
windows  the  sunlight  shone  here  and  there  a  dull  gleaming  gold. 
The  butcher's  boy  whistled  loudly  as  he  marched  by ;  the  cab- 
man flicked  at  his  horse  out  of  mere  good-humor;  the  hostlers  in 
the  adjacent  mews  made  merry  with  bandied  jests.  It  seemed 
too  fine  a  morning  for  the  collation  of  Scotch  ballads ;  and  so 
indeed  it  proved  to  be ;  for  about  eleven  o'clock  the  door  across 
the  way  was  opened,  and  out  came  Mr.  Bethnae  and  his  grandr 


imtim 


196 


STAMD  VAST,  OEAIO-KOTSTOirl 


daughter  into  the  wintry  Bunlight.  Maisrie  did  not  look  np. 
The  two  were  talking  together  as  they  went  along  the  little 
thoroughfare  and  turned  into  Park  Street.  The  next  moment 
Vincent  had  snatched  up  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  was  off  in 
pursuit.  '   V 

But  he  did  not  seek  to  overtake  them.  On  the  contrary,  he 
kept  as  wide  a  space  between  them  and  him  as  he  had  done  be- 
fore he  had  ever  dared  to  address  them ;  and  yet  the  distance 
was  not  so  great  but  that  he  could  observe  Maisrie's  every  gest- 
ture,  and  the  graceful  motion  of  every  step.  She  wore  those 
hanging  sleeves,  too,  that  had  hidden  his  arm  on  the  preceding 
night ;  those  hanging  sleeves  that  had  allowed  her  to  say  some- 
thing in  secret  to  him,  even  amid  the  noise  and  movement  of  a 
great  crowd.  And  now  that  he  saw  her  actual  self  instead  of 
the  vague  phantom  of  his  reveries,  he  plucked  up  courage.  Yes, 
she  must  have  known  what  she  was  doing.  Those  were  flesh-and- 
blood  fingers  that  had  taken  hold  of  his ;  when  she  raised  his 
hand  to  her  heart,  it  could  not  have  been  altogether  through  in- 
advertence. Once  or  twice  a  wild  fancy  got  into  his  head  that 
here  and  now  he  would  hasten  forward  and  seize  her  arm,  as  if 
by  right,  and  say, "  Maisrie,  there  is  no  need  of  words  between 
us :  I  am  here  at  your  side,  and  mean  to  remain  here.  What- 
ever that  message  meant,  I  claim  yon  as  mine."  And  then  again 
he  drew  back.  What  if  there  were  some  mistake  ?  Hyde  Park 
did  not  seem  a  fitting  place  for  explanations.  And  then  her 
grandfather  might  be  more  than  astonished. 

Tet  hour  after  hour  of  this  terrible  day  went  by,  and  brought 
him  no  nearer  to  the  discovery  he  longed  for.  When  Maisrie  and 
her  grandfather  returned  from  their  stroll  through  the  Park,  the 
young  man  went  back  to  the  sheet  of  foolscap  on  which  he 
meant  to  shadow  forth  the  outlines  of  his  lecture.  The  effort 
was  absurd.  He  might  keep  his  eyes  mechanically  fixed  on  the 
paper,  but  his  brain  refused  to  act  Industry — capital — the  pro- 
posed resumption,  by  the  workers  of  the  world,  of  the  mines,  fac- 
tories, docks,  ships,  canals,  railways,  which  their  labor  had  con- 
structed— ^the  impractibility  of  land  nationalization — and  so  forth. 
What  were  these  but  mere  lifeless  phrases  when  his  heart  was 
listening  for  the  smallest  sound  on  the  other  side  of  the  street! 
And  ill-lnck  pursued  him.  She  did  not  come  once  to  the  win- 
dow.    The  chrysanthemums  in  the  little  baicony  were  quite 


STAHD  FAST,  ORAIO-ftOTSTOIT  I 


19V 


did  not  look  np. 
at  along  the  little 
The  next  moment 
es,  and  iras  off  in 

>n  the  contrary,  ho 
as  he  had  done  bo- 
ld yet  the  distance 
[aisrie's  every  gest- 
.  She  wore  those 
a  on  the  preceding 
3d  her  to  say  some- 
ind  movement  of  a 
tual  self  instead  of 
1  up  coarage.  Tes, 
bose  were  flesh-and- 
vhen  she  raised  his 
ogether  through  in- 
)  into  his  head  that 
seize  her  arm,  as  if 
i  of  words  between 
main  here.  What- 
And  then  again 
(take  ?  Hyde  Park 
And  then  her 

int  by,  and  brought 
When  Maisrie  and 
rough  the  Park,  the 
Iscap  on  which  he 
ectnre.    The  effort 
nically  fixed  on  the 
—capital — ^the  pro- 
,  of  the  mines,  fac- 
heir  labor  had  con- 
ation— and  so  forth, 
irhen  his  heart  was 
side  of  the  street! 
le  once  to  the  win* 
laicony  were  qaito 


neglected.  The  afternoon  passed,  and  neither  she  nor  her 
grandfather  came  out  alone.  Then,  when  he  went  over  as  usual 
about  half-past  six,  there  was  no  chance  of  his  speaking  to  her 
by  herself ;  in  fact,  both  she  and  her  grandfather  were  seated  at 
the  one  table,  with  a  heap  of  bboks  and  papers  before  them. 

"  Enough,  Maisrie,  enough,"  Mr.  Bethune  said,  blithely,  and  be 
rose  at  once.  "  You  have  had  your  wish,  though  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  undertake  any  such  drudgery." 

She  also  rose  to  receive  the  visitor ;  and  as  she  gave  him  her 
hand  for  a  moment,  and  regarded  him  with  very  friendly  eyes, 
there  was  not  the  least  trace  of  self-consciousness  in  her  manner. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  bright  and  frank  smile, "  grandfather 
has  conferred  a  new  dignity  on  me.  I  am  become  his  amanuen- 
sis. Not  that  I  am  the  slightest  real  use  to  him,  I  suppose ;  it 
is  only  done  to  please  me.  Still,  I  take  it  seriously,  and  pretend 
to  be  doing  my  share.  Time  to  go,  is  it  f  Very  well,  I  shall  be 
ready  in  a  minute." 

lie  was  amazed  and  mortified  beyond  measure  by  this  perfect 
self-possession.  Had  nothing  whatever  happened  the  night  be- 
fore, then !  There  was  no  secret  between  them  at  all.  She  had 
made  no  confession — given  him  no  message.  And  then  wounded 
pride  stepped  in  and  spoke — with  its  usual  violence  and  cruel 
injustice.  Perhaps  there  were  people  who  dispensed  their  ca- 
resses so  freely  that  they  thought  nothing  of  them.  What  had 
startled  him,  a  mun,  might  be  only  a  matter  of  course  to  her,  a 
girl.  Nay — for  what  will  not  a  lover  say  in  a  passion  of  jealous 
anger  and  disappointment  ? — perhaps  he  was  not  the  first  nor  the 
only  one  who  had  been  similarly  bewildered. 

He  had  no  word  for  Maisrie  on  her  return  to  the  room.  When 
tlio  three  of  them  went  out  into  the  street,  he  forsook  his  usual 
post  by  her  side,  and  walked  with  her  grandfather,  to  whom  he 
talked  exclusively.  And,  of  course,  as  his  questions  were  all 
about  the  projected  compilation  of  ballads,  and  as  old  George 
Bethune  was  always  keenly  enthusiastic  about  any  new  undertak- 
ing, there  was  no  stint  to  their  conversation.  Maisrie  walked  on 
in  silence  and  unheeded.  When  they  reached  the  restaurant, 
and  as  they  were  taking  their  seats  at  the  little  table,  she  glanced 
at  the  young  man ;  but  his  eyes  did  not  happen  to  meet  hers. 
And  there  was  no  place  for  h«r  in  their  talk. 

"  No,"  old  George  Bethune  was  saying,  and  with  considerable 


i 


Miliii 


'■m-^ 


IM 


aTAm  rAflT,  obaio-kotstoii  i 


•nimAtion,  for  he  appeared  to  have  l>een  looking  over' some  of 
the  ballada  during  the  day,  and  his  mind  was  still  fired  by  tho 
recollection  of  them,  "  I  think  they  are  beyond  the  reach  of 
illastration,  even  if  there  should  be  an  idition  dt  Ivcu.  I  have 
considered  your  suggestion  more  than  once ;  but  I  fear  the  draw- 
ing would,  in  almost  every  instance,  be  an  anti-climax  to  the 
power  and  simplicity  and  pathos  of  the  printed  page.  No  pict- 
ure could  be  so  vivid  and  clear  and  striking  as  the  verses  them- 
selves.   Why,  just  think  of  such  lines  as  these : 


■  :is,)mr^ 


"  ■  'Til  not  the  frost  that  fre«zei  fell, 
Nor  blowing  maw's  inoIemeDoie ; 


.'I  "SV^' 


'Tie  not  sic  cauid  that  maiies  me  cr^, 
Bat  my  love's  heart  grown  oauld  to  me. 

When  we  oame  in  my  Qlasgow  town. 
We  were  a  comely  sight  to  see ; 

M 7  love  was  clad  i'  the  black  velvet, 
And  I  myself  in  oramoisie.' 


i?-5  .3i, 


'i.  "^  : 


What  picture  could  better  that!  What  picture  conld  do  any- 
thing but  weaken  it  t  You  remember  is  '  Edom  o'  Gordon,'  how 
the  young  maiden  is  lowered  from  the  burning  tower  only  to  be 
■lain  by  Edom  o'  Gordon's  spear : 

"'They  row'd  her  in  '.  pair  o'  sheets, 
And  tow'd  he'  owre  the  wa* ; 
But  on  the  point  o'  Gordon's  spear 
She  gat  a  deadly  fa'. 

" 'Oh,  bonnie,  bonnie  was  her  mooib, 

And  cherry  were  her  cheeks,  ;     -j      .    . ,  . 

And  dear,  dear  was  her  yellow  hair, 
Whereon  the  red  blood  dreepa. 

" '  Then  wi'  his  spear  he  turned  her  owre— 
Oh,  but  her  face  was  wan  I 
He  said, "  Ye  are  the  first  that  e'er 
I  wish'd  aUve  again." 

" '  He  turned  her  owre  and  owre  agidn — 
Ob,  but  her  skin  was  white  I 
"I  might  hae  spared  that  bonnie  face 
•  To  hae  been  some  man's  delight 

" ' "  Busk  and  i>oun,  my  merry  men  a', 
For  ill  <k>oms  I  do  guess ; 
I  canno'   aok  on  that  bonnie  faoe 
As  i^  lies  on  the  gran." ' 


■TAiro   VAIT,  OSAIOhBOTtTOMI 


lf9 


n 

>king  over  aome  of 
18  still  fired  by  tho 
syond  the  reach  of 
on  dt  luxe.  I  have 
but  I  fear  the  dm w- 
I  anti-climax  to  the 
ted  page.  No  pict- 
as  the  verses  them- 
ese: 


ome. 

cture  could  do  any- 
lom  o'  Gordon,'  how 
ing  tower  only  to  be 


dr, 


»WT«— • 


in- 


faoe 


What  illustrations  conld  improve  on  that  \ — why,  it  bams  dear 
its  flamo !  Then,  again,  take  the  girl  who  was  drowned  by  her 
sister  in  '  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  fialloray.' " 

At  this  point  the  silent  and  neglected  M aisrie  suddenly  looked 
up— glancing  from  her  grandfather  to  the  young  man  in  a  cu- 
riously apposing  way.  She  seemed  to  say,  "  Grandfather,  you 
forget :  it  is  not  Balloray — it  is  Binnorie  ;'*  and  again,  "Vincent, 
ho  baa  forgotten,  that  is  all.''  But  neither  of  them  took  any  no- 
tice of  her ;  nay,  the  younger  man,  in  his  insensate  indignation 
and  disappointment,  would  not  look  her  way  at  all ;  while  old 
George  Bethune,  with  his  mind  fixed  on  those  imaginary  pict- 
ures, went  on  in  a  rapt  fashion  to  repeat  certain  of  the  verses. 

•  ,:,.      " '  7«  oouldna  lee  her  jrallow  hair, 
Ballorajr,  0  Balloray, 
For  gowd  and  peara  that  were  lae  rare, 
By  the  bonnie  mttl-danu  o'  Balloray. 

**  *  Te  couldna  eee  hermlddle  una', 
Balloray,  0  Balloray, 
'  Her  ftowden  girdle  was  aae  braw, 

By  ilie  bonnie  mill-dama  o'  Balloray. 

Av'      M  •  Ye  oouldna  Me  her  lily  feet, 
Balloray,  0  Balloray, 
Her  gowden  fringes  were  lae  deep, 
'     '  .'^^i^tt  yi^'T      By  the  bonnie  mlU-daa»  o*  Balloray. 
;^  ■       -  »• «  gjj,  ^11  U„y  be^  whae'er  "hnj  be, 
-  Balloray,  0  Balloray, 

The  heart*  that  live  to  weep  for  thee  I" 
r    .  By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o' Balloray  I"* 

*'  It  is  like  a  piotiire  by  one  of  the  Pre-Raphaelites,  Vincent 
said ;  and  then  the  old  man  proceeded  to  talk  of  paper  «nd  type 
and  binding,  as  if  the  new  work  were  just  ready  for  press. 

Bat  silence  was  not  to  reign  forever  between  those  two.  On 
their  way  home  Mr.  Bethune  was  talking  of  '<  The  Demon  Lover," 
of  its  alleged  Italian  origin,  and  of  a  suggestion  he  had  seen 
somewhere  that  it  was  no  forsaken  sweetheart  who  had  come  to 
tempt  the  wedded  wife,  but  a  fiend  adopting  that  disguise.  When 
they  reached  the  little  parlor  he  began  to  search  about  for  the 
volume  in  which  "  The  Demon  Lover  "  was  thns  treated,  but 
coold  not  find  it,  whereupon  he  went  off  up-etairs  to  see  if  it 
was  not  among  his  books  and  papers  there.    As  soon  a*  he  had 


i 


A 


I 
I 
I 


\    I 


J0 


V. 


•'51 


MO 


STAND    VAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTOM  t 


gone  Maisrio  roso  and  camo  over  to  whoro  the  young  man  was 
standing  by  tlio  flropiace. 

"  What  have  I  done,  Vincent  f"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  he  made  answer,  avoiding  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  know,"  she  said,  proudly, 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  he.     "  I — I  made  a  mistake,  that  is  all." 

She  looked  at  him  in  mute  reproach ;  then  she  turned  away 
and  wont  back  to  her  seat.  There  was  a  paper-knife  on  the  table 
beside  her ;  she  took  that  into  her  hands,  and  began  to  finger  it ; 
her  eyes  were  downcast ;  he  was  free  to  go  now  when  bo  chose. 

But  ho  did  not  go.  On  the  contrary,  after  a  second  or  two  of 
vacillation  he  followed  her. 

"  Mnisric,"  snid  he,  in  a  very  different  tone, "  perhaps  it's  all  a 
mistake  on  my  part.  If  so,  I  am  sorry.  I  don't  want  to  vex 
you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  vex  you,  Vincent,"  said  she,  in  a  somewhat 
low  voice.     "  Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  "Well,"  said  he,  "  I  came  here  this  afternoon,  thinking — hop- 
ing— there  might  be  some  more  definite  understanding  between 
you  and  me ;  yes,  I  was  hoping  for  much — and  then — and  then 
I  found  you  quite  careless  and  thoughtless,  just  as  if  nothing  at 
all  had  happened  last  night." 

"  Last  night !"  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  rather  reproachfully.  "  Don't  yon  remember 
what  happened  last  night?  Don't  you  know  that  you  pressed 
my  hand  to  your  heart  ?  But  perhaps  that  was  nothing — per- 
haps that  meant  nothing  at  all." 

"  It  meant  a  very  great  deal,  Vincent,"  said  she,  warmly,  look- 
ing up  at  him  with  honest  eyes.  "  We  were  talking  of  the  value 
of  true  friends — and  1  conld  not  say  much — yet  I  wished  to  tell 
yon  what  I  thought  of  all  your  goodness  and  kindness.  Indeed, 
indeed,  it  meant  a  great  deal,  Vincent,  and  I  hoped  you  would 
understand." 

"  I  have  understood  too  much,"  said  he,  and  he  was  silent  for 
a  second.  Then  he  went  on,  "  I  thought  you  had  something 
more  than  that  to  say  to  me,  Maisrie.  For  why  need  I  tell  you 
what  you  muot  have  guessed  already  ?  You  know  I  love  you ; 
you  must  have  seen  it  all  this  time ;  there  was  no  need  for  me 
to  speak.  And  when  the  future  has  but  the  one  hope  for  me 
that  some  day  or  other  you  should  be  my  wife,  then  perhaps  I 


>i£^.^*.-  v'.^i*,-.'; 


ho  yonn((  man  wm 


•^ 


lier  eyes. 

y- 

listako,  that  is  all." 
n  she  turned  away 
!r-knifo  on  the  table 
began  to  finger  it ; 
low  when  ho  chose. 
'  a  second  or  two  of 

, "  perhaps  it's  all  a 
[  don't  want  to  vex 

she,  in  a  somewhat 

)on,  thinking — hop- 
erstanding  between 
ind  then — and  then 
ust  as  if  nothing  at 


►on't  you  remember 

w  that  you  pressed 

was  nothing— per- 

i  she,  warmly,  look- 
talking  of  the  value 
yet  I  wished  to  tell 
kindness.  Indeed, 
[  hoped  you  would 

|id  ho  was  silent  for 
ou  had  something 
why  need  I  tell  you 
know  I  love  you ; 
ras  no  need  for  me 
0  Ane  hope  for  me 
if  e,  then  perhaps  I 


i 

m         9 

t               1 

■  \ 

1  • '     ilk  V^ 

*- ',     '   III .  «■  A  .  ■ 

^.. »  ... 

Hi         f  '-  • 

•• '  What  hate  I  done,  Vincent  f '  the-  mid." 


■  ■.,  ^'jrii^  I 


*f  ■ 


•TAIIO    FAW,  ORAIO-IIOTITON  I 


Ml 


':fH'^' 


.'  :^:k 


man  too  eftffrr  to  boliere  it  had  all  come  tnio  '  that  yoa  wera  giv- 
ing mo  a  promiio  in  that  quiet  way,  and  no  need  of  «  apokon 
word  between  oa.  But  I  waa  rointaken,  I  aoo.  You  only  meant 
friciiilnhip.     You  only  wanted  to  aay,  *  Thank  you  I'  to  a  friend." 

Hut  by  thia  time  she  had  riaen  from  her  chnir,  and  there  waa 
in  her  oyea  the  atrangeat  look  of  pride  and  joy,  and  perhapa,  too, 
of  Hadnoaa. 

"  Do  you  know  what  yon  are  aaying,  Vincent  ?"  she  Hid, 
(piito  gently.     "  You^-of  all  people  in  the  world — " 

Nho  hcaitated,  ahe  r  yarded  with  admiring  and  grateful  and 
afToctionato  eyea  this  liandaome  Uu,  on  whom  fortune  had  ahod 
all  good  thinga,  and  perhapa  ahe  could  not  quite  confeaa  all  ahe 
thought. 

"  You,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  every  one  making  much  of 
you,  every  one  hoping  auch  great  thinga  of  you,  and  you  come 
Hceking  a  wife  hereP'  She  glanced  around  at  the  shabby  lit- 
tlu  apartment.  Then  ahe  turned  her  eyea  towarda  him  again, 
and  there  waa  a  amilo  in  them  of  an  unstable  kind,  and  toara 
wero  gathering  in  the  lashes.  "  Well,"  she  said,  *'  it  will  be 
something  for  me  to  think  of.  It  will  bo  something  for  mo  to 
l)c  proud  of.  There  can  be  no  harm  in  that.  I  shall  be  able  to 
Hny  to  myself,  'Vincent  thought  so  well  of  you  that  be  once 
asked  you  to  be  his  wife.'  " 

"  liut  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Maisrie  !"  he  exclaimed, 
and  in  spite  of  her  he  seized  her  band  and  hold  it  tight  between 
his  two.  "  What  do  you  mean  f  You  are  going  to  be  my  wife  t 
Oh,  I  don't  want  you  to  make  rash  promises,  I  don't  want  to 
frighten  you ;  no,  I  want  yon  to  be  of  good  heart,  and  you  will 
SCO,  thinga  will  turn  oat  all  right — in  tho  end !  And  if  yoa 
don't  know  your  own  mind  yet,  if  you  are  afraid  to  say  any- 
thing, won't  you  let  me  gnoss  t  Surely,  we  have  not  been  all 
this  time  together,  and  seeing  so  much  of  each  other,  without 
getting  to  know  each  other  pretty  intimately  f  And  if  I  did  make 
a  mistake  last  night — well,  that  is  a  trifling  matter — and  I  waa 
too  presumptuous." 

She  managed  to  release  her  hand.  ' 

"  Sit  down,  Vincent,  and  let  me  talk  to  you,"  abe  aaid.  "  Per- 
haps I  may  not  have  another  chance ;  and  I  do  not  wish  you 
ever  to  look  back  and  say  I  waa  ungrateful,  or  unreaaonable,  or 
cold-hearted.  Cold-hearted  f  —  not  that  —  not  that  —  towwda 
I* 


J 


■ 


802 


STAMD   VAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTON  I 


yon!"  And  then  she  went  on  in  rather  a  sad  wa-^.  "I  think 
the  time  has  about  come  that  we  should  part  It  has  been  a 
pleasant  companionship;  I  am  not  likely  ever  to  forget  it 
But  your  future  is  so  important,  and  ours  so  uncertain,  that 
1  am  sure  the  sooner  we  go  separate  ways  the  better ;  and  I  am 
anxious  to  make  a  change  now.  I  think  if  my  grandfather  and 
I  went  away  somewhere  where  we  could  live  more  cheaply — 
where  there  would  be  fewer  temptations  towards  the  spending 
of  money — I  could  do  something  to  support  him,  and  leave 
him  the  luxury  of  his  books.  I  am  a  woman  now — I  want  to 
work — " 

"  Yon  work  ?    Not  while  I  can  1"  he  said,  hotly. 

She  went  on  without  heeding  him. 

"That  is  why  I  have  been  glad  to  see  him  so  eager  about 
this  book  of  ballads.  If  he  could  only  get  rid  of  all  indebted- 
ness, to  friends  and  others,  through  this  book,  then  we  should 
start  clear ;  and  I  should  ask  him  not  to  fret  any  more  about 
his  literary  schemes.  He  is  an  old  man.  He  has  done  every- 
thing for  me :  why  should  I  not  do  something  for  him  now  ( 
And  I  have  no  pride.  The  story  about  those  Scotch  estates  was 
always  a  kind  of  fairy  tale  to  me ;  I  never  had  any  real  belief  in 
the  possibility  of  their  coming  to  us ;  I  was  never  a  fine  lady 
even  in  imagination,  so  that  it  matters  little  to  me  what  I  tnrn 
my  hand  to ;  if  what  little  education  I  have  had  is  useless,  I 
would  take  to  something  else.  I  would  work  about  a  farmhouse 
at  anything ;  for  I  am  a  great  deal  stronger  than  you  may  im- 
agine— " 

"Oh,  what  are  you  talking  about,  Maisrie !"  he  said,  with  sim- 
ulated anger.  "  If  you  chink  I  am  going  to  allow  any  such  folly, 
you  are  mistaken.  There  are  plenty  of  dairy-maids  in  the  world 
without  you.  And  I  have  the  righ*;  to  say  something — I  claim  the 
right :  lam  going  to  interfere,  whether  you  like  it  or  not.  When 
you  speak  of  your  duty  towards  your  grandfather,  that  I  under- 
stand. He  has  been  everything  to  you :  who  would  ask  yon  to  for- 
sake him !  But,  as  you  say,  he  is  an  old  man.  If  anything  were  to 
happen  to  him,  think  of  your  own  position.  You  have  hardly  f, 
friend  in  the  world — a  few  acquaintances  in  Canada,  perhaps ; 
but  what  is  that  ?  You  will  want  some  one  to  protect  you :  give 
me  that  right  1  If  I  let  you  go  from  me  now,  how  am  I  to  find 
you  again !  how  am  I  to  know  what  m>xj  happen  f    Maisrie,  have 


ms!\ 


rSTON  I 

sr  a  sad  wa>.  "I  think 
Id  part  It  has  been  a 
ikely  ever  to  forget  it 
ours  so  ancertain,  that 
ys  the  better ;  and  I  am 
k  if  my  grandfather  and 
lid  live  more  cheaply — 
IS  towards  the  spending 
support  him,  and  leave 
woman  now — I  want  to 

said,  hotly. 

see  him  so  eager  about 
get  rid  of  all  indebted- 
is  book,  then  we  should 
to  fret  any  more  about 
in.  He  has  done  every- 
iometbing  for  him  nowt 
those  Scotch  estates  was 
ver  had  any  real  belief  in 
I  was  never  a  fine  lady 
little  to  me  what  I  turn 
I  have  had  is  useless,  I 
work  about  a  farmhouse 
onger  than  you  may  im- 

isrie !"  he  said,  with  sim- 
g  to  allow  any  such  folly, 
dairy-maids  in  the  world 
y  something — I  claim  the 
rou  like  it  or  not.  When 
randfather,  that  I  nnder- 
irho  would  ask  yon  to  for- 
nan.  If  anything  wtire  to 
ion.  You  have  hardly  •<■. 
ses  in  Canada,  perhaps ; 
one  to  protect  you :  give 
e  now,  how  am  I  to  find 
7  happen  f    Maisrie,  have 


STARE   FAST,  ORAIO>ROTBTOir  I 


lOfl 


courage  I  be  frank.  Tell  me  that  the  little  message  of  last  night 
meant  something  more !" 

The  eloquence  was  not  in  the  words,  but  in  the  vibrating 
tones  of  his  voice ;  and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  as  she  an- 
swered : 

"  Vincent,  I  cannot— I  dare  not !  You  don't  know  how  grand- 
father  and  1  are  situated ;  you  are  so  generous,  so  open-minded, 
that— that  you  see  everything  in  so  favorable  a  light ;  but  then 
other  people  might  step  in — " 

"Between  you  and  me!  Who!"  he  demanded,  with  set 
lips. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  " who  can  tell?  And  besides— 
besides — do  you  not  think  I  am  as  proad  of  you  as  any  one  f 
Do  you  pot  think  I  am  looking  forward  to  all  that  is  expected 
of  you  f — and  when  I  hear  of  you  as  this  or  that,  I  will  say  to 
myself,  «I  knew  what  Vincent  was  going  to  do;  and  now  he  is 
glad  he  did  not  hamper  himself  out  of— out  of  pity—- for  a, 
friendless  girl ' — " 

But  here  she  broke  down  altogether,  and  covered  h^r  face 
with  her  hands,  and  sobbed  without  possibility  of  concealment 
He  was  by  her  side  in  a  moment ;  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  down- 
bent  head — on  the  soft  hair. 

"  Maisrie,"  he  said,  with  the  ntmost  gentleness, "  don't  make 
me  angry.  If  you  have  anything  to  say  why  you  cannot  or  will 
not  be  my  wife,  tell  me ;  but  do  not  be  unreasonable  and  foolish. 
You  speak  of  my  future :  it  is  nothing  to  me  without  you.  Tv 
talk  of  the  expectations  of  my  friends :  I  tell  you  that  my  life  ie 
my  own.  And  why  should  you  be  an^  drag  or  hamper — yon ! 
I  wish  you  would  thint  of  yourself  a  little — not  of  me.  Surely 
there  is  something  better  in  the  world  than  ambition  and  figur- 
ing before  the  public  in  newspapers."  Then  he  stopped  for  a 
second  or  two,  and  resumed,  in  a  lower  and  different  tone, "  Of 
course,  if  you  refuse  me  your  love,  that  is  different  That  I  can 
understand.  I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve  it ;  I  have  come  to 
you  as  a  beggar.  If  you  refuse  me  that,  there  is  nothing  more 
to  be  said.  I  do  not  blame  you.  If  I  have  made  a  mistake,  so 
much  the  worse  for  me — " 

She  rose. 

"  Vincent,"  she  said,  between  her  half-atified  sobs,  "  you  are 
not  very  kind.    But  it  is  hotter  so — moob  better.    Now  I  roust 


204 


STAND   VAST,  CRAIO-BOTBTON I 


go  and  help  grandfather  to  find  that  book.  And  as  tlis  is  to  bo 
the  last  word — well,  then — dear  friend — donH  be  so  ungenerous 
to  me  when  in  after-years  you  look  back — " 

But  he  was  not  likely  to  let  her  go  like  that.  He  interposed 
between  her  and  the  door ;  nay,  he  drew  her  towards  him,  and 
took  her  head  between  his  hands,  and  pushed  back  the  hair  from 
her  brow,  as  though  he  would  read  down  to  the  very  depths  of 
those  beautiful,  tear-dimmed  eyes. 

"  You  have  not  refused  me  your  love,  Maisrie — ^because  you 
dare  not  I"  he  said.  "  And  what  do  1  ca/e  whether  you  say  it 
or  not — when  I  knowf  And  therewith  he  kissed  her  on  the 
mouth — and  again — and  again.  "  Now  you  are  mine.  You  dare 
not  deny  your  love — and  I  claim  you  as  my  wife — ^" 

She  struggled  backward  to  be  free  from  him,  and  said,  almost 
wildly: 

"  No,  no,  Vincent !  you  do  not  understand.  I  have  not  been 
frank  with  you ;  I  cannot  ever  be  your  wife  1  Some  day  I  will 
tell  you—" 

Theiie  was  no  chance  for  any  further  entreaty  or  explanation, 
for  at  this  moment  there  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  outside,  the 
door  was  opened,  and  old  Oeoige  Bcthune  appeared,  carryiug  in 
his  hands  some  half-dozen  books.  When  he  saw  those  two 
standing  opposite  to  each  other,  the  young  man  pale  and  agi- 
tated, the  girl  also  pale  and  with  her  eyes  streaming  over  witlv 
tears,  he  glanced  from  the  one  to  the  other  in  silence.  Then  he 
walked  deliberately  forward  to  the  table,  and  laid  down  the 
books.  Maisrie  escaped  from  the  room.  Vincent  returned  to 
the  fireplace,  too  bewildered  by  her  last  words  to  care  much 
what  construction  might  be  placed  upon  this  scene  by  her  grand- 
father. But  he  had  to  recall  himself ;  for  the  old  man,  just  as 
if  he  had  observed  nothing,  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  but 
yet  with  a  certain  measured  precision  in  his  tones,  resumed  his 
discussion  of  "  The  Demon  Lover,"  and  proceeded  to  give  his 
reasons  for  thinking  that  the  story  had  migrated  from  tiie  far 
North  to  the  South. 

But  presently  Mr.  Bethune  had  turned  from  those  books,  and 
was  sta^ng  into  the  fire,  as  he  said,  with  a  certain  slow  and  sig- 
nificant emphasis : 

"  It  will  be  an  interesting  subject ;  and  yet  I  must  guard 
against  being  wholly  absorbed  by  it,  and  that  for  my  grand- 


iMtM 


''''■■.:-J'i^..ftiJli!iMMIWiililWi 


•wpppi 


iiiiniipi,iiHrWjr':,...-, 


Nl 

And  as  tLis  is  to  bo 
I't  be  BO  ungenerous 

lat.  He  interposed 
)r  towards  him,  and 
1  back  the  hair  from 
)  the  very  depths  of 

aisrie — ^because  you 
whether  yoa  say  it 
9  kissed  her  on  the 
are  mine.  You  dare 
wife—" 
lim,  and  said,  almost 

1.  I  have  not  been 
)  I    Some  day  I  will 

>eaty  or  explanation, 
ootsteps  outside,  the 
ippeared,  carrying  in 
1  he  saw  those  two 
I  man  pale  and  agi- 
streaming  over  with 
in  silence.  Then  he 
and  laid  down  the 
Vincent  returned  to 
rords  to  care  much 
)  scene  by  her  grand- 
the  old  man,  just  as 
g  had  happened,  but 
B  tones,  resumed  his 
roceeded  to  give  his 
igrated  from  the  far 

om  those  books,  and 
certain  slow  and  sig- 

l  yet  I  must  guard 
that  for  my  grand- 


BTAHD  VAST,  dUTO-BOTBTOV  I 


208 


daughter's  sake.  I  imagine  we  have  been  living  a  much 
too  monotonous  life  for  some  time  back;  and  that  is  not 
well  for  any  one,  especially  for  a  young  girl  A  limitation  of 
interests — ^that  is  not  wholesome.  The  mind  becomes  morbid, 
and  exaggerates  trifles.  And  in  the  case  of  Maisrie,  she  has 
been  used  to  change  and  travel.  I  should  think  the  unvary- 
ing routine  of  our  life  of  late,  both  as  regards  our  employ- 
ments and  amusements,  extremely  prejudicial  to  her  health  and 
spirits — " 

"  Why,  she  seems  very  well,"  Vincent  said,  anxiously,  for  he 
knew  not  what  all  this  might  mean. 

"  A  change  will  do  her  good — will  do  all  of  us  good,  perhaps," 
said  the  old  man.  ''  Every  one  knows  tb<tt  it  is  not  wise  for 
people  to  see  too  much  of  each  other ;  it  puts  too  heavy  a  strain 
on  friendship.  Companionship  should  be  a  volunteered  thing — 
slioald  b«  a  reward,  indeed,  for  previous  isolation  and  work — " 

Vincent's  forehead  flushed,  and  the  natural  man  within  him 
was  crying  out, "  Oh,  very  well,  then ;  I  don't  press  any  further 
acquaintance  on  you  1"  But  for  Maisrio's  sake  he  curbed  his 
pride.    He  said,  as  quickly  as  might  be, 

"  In  our  case  I  thought  that  was  precisely  how  our  compan- 
ionship stood — a  little  relaxation  after  the  labors  of  the  day. 
However,  if  you  think  there  has  been  too  much  of  that — " 

"I  was  speaking  of  general  principles,"  Mr.  Bethune  said, 
with  equanimity.  "  At  the  same  time,  I  confess  that,  as  regards 
Maisrie,  I  think  that  some  alteration  in  our  mode  of  existence 
might  be  beneficial.  Her  life  of  late  has  been  much  too  mo- 
notonous." 

"  Again  and  i^in  she  has  told  me  that  she  delights  in  the 
quietude  of  it!''  the  young  man  protested;  for  it  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  him  that  Maisrie  was  to  be  drag^d  away  from  Eng- 
land altogether.     "  Surely  she  has  had  enough  of  travel  V 

"  Travel  f  That  is  not  what  I  have  in  mind,"  old  Geoige 
Bethune  said.  "  We  have  neither  the  time  nor  the  means.  I 
should  merely  propose  to  pack  up  a  f^w  books  and  things,  and 
take  Maisrie  down  to  some  seaside  place — Brighton,  perhaps,  as 
being  the  most  convenient" 

The  young  man's  face  flashed  instant  relief.  Brighton! — 
that  was  something  different  from  whal  he  had  been  dread- 
ing.   Brighton! — Brighton  was  not  Toronto  nor  Montreal; 


w^^ 


Mim  VAiT,  CRAie-iioTnoiri 


there  was  going  to  be  no  wide  Atlantic  between  him  and  her 
—a  trivial  matter  of  an  hoar's  railway  joo'.ney,  or  something  of 
the  kind  I 

"  Oh,  Brighton  f'  said  he,  quite  gladly.  *'  Yes,  that  will  be 
pleasant  for  her.  Brighton  is  brisk  and  lively  enongh  at  this 
time  of  the  year;  and  if  there  is  any  sunlight  going,  yon 
are  sure  to  get  it  there.  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  the  hotels 
full—" 

"  We  shall  not  trouble  the  hotels,"  Mr.  Bethune  said,  with 
grave  dignity.  "  Some  very  humble  lodgings  will  suffice ;  and 
perhaps  wo  might  get  rooms  in  a  house  on  the  hill  at  the  back 
of  the  town ;  that  would  give  me  seclusion  and  quiet  for  my 
work.  Yes,  I  think  the  change  will  be  wholesome;  and  the 
sooner  we  set  about  it  the  better." 

Well,  to  Vincent  it  did  not  seem  that  this  proposal  involved 
any  great  alteration  in  their  mode  of  life,  except  that  he  him- 
self was  obviously  and  unmistakably  excluded.  Nevertheless, 
he  was  so  glad  to  find  that  the  separation  from  Maisrie  was  of 
a  mild  and  temporary  nature  that  he  affected  to  give  a  quite 
cordial  approval.  He  even  offered  to  engage  the  services  of 
his  aunt,  Mrs.  Ellison,  in  securing  them  apartments;  but  Mr. 
Bethune  answered  that  Maisrie  and  he  were  old  travellers, 
and  would  be  able  to  shift  for  themselves.  And  when  did  they 
propose  to  go  I  Well,  to-morrow,  if  his  granddaughter  were 
eootent 

While  they  were  vet  talking,  Maisrie  made  her  appearance. 
She  had  bathed  her  eyes  in  water,  and  there  was  not  much 
trace  of  her  recent  agitation,  though  she  was  still  somewhat 
pale.  And  Vincent  —  to  show  her  that  he  refused  to  be 
alarmed  by  her  parting  words — to  show  her  that  he  was  quite 
confident  as  to  the  future — preserved  his  placid,  not  to  say  gay, 
demeanor. 

"  Do  you  know  what  your  grandfather  u  going  to  do  with 
you,  Maisrie f  said  he.  "He  is  going  to  take  you  down. to 
Brighton  for  a  time.  Yes,  and  at  once— tonnorrow,  if  yon  care 
to  go." 

She  glanced  quickly  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if  fearing  some 
conspiracy  between  them. 

"  And  you,  Vincent !"  she  asked,  turning  to  him. 

He  did  not  meet  her  look. 


owl 


BTAHD   FAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTOM I 


Mf 


between  him  and  her 
ney,  or  something  of 

"Yes,  that  will  be 

lively  enough  at  this 

sunlight  going,  you 

1  will  find  the  horitels 

r.  Bethune  said,  with 
ings  will  suffice ;  and 
>n  the  hill  at  the  back 
lion  and  quiet  for  my 
wholesome;  and  the 

this  proposal  involved 
),  except  thai  he  him- 
;luded.  Nevertheless, 
1  from  Maisrie  was  of 
ected  to  give  a  quite 
ngago  the  services  of 
apartments;  but  Mr. 
I  were  old  travellers, 
.  And  when  did  they 
i  granddaughter  were 

made  her  appearance. 
L  there  was  not  much 
le  was  still  somewhat 
at  he  refused  to  be 
her  that  he  was  quite 
pkcid,  not  to  say  gay, 

ir  is  going  to  do  with 
to  take  yon  down. to 
-to-morrow,  if  yon  care 

ther,  as  if  fearing  some 

ig  tohim. 


« 1 1  Oh,  I  must  keep  to  work ;  I  can't  afford  to  go  away  dowc 
and  idle  among  those  fashionable  folk.  My  Mendover  lect- 
ure isn't  half  sketched  out  yet  And  then,  again,  you  remem- 
ber the  article  I  told  you  about  I— before  beginning  it  I  ought 
really  to  run  down  to  Scotland,  or  at  least  to  Yorkshire,  and  see 
one  of  those  municipal  lodging-houses  in  actual  operation. 
They  seem  to  me  marvellons  institutions,"  continued  this  con- 
summate hypocrite  (as  if  the  chief  thought  in  his  mind  at  this 
moment  was  the  housing  of  the  industrious  poor  I),  "  and  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  the  country  at  large ;  worked  at  a  profit, 
too — that  is  the  amazing  thing  I  Fancy  at  Hnddersfield :  three- 
pence a  day  includes  use  of  cooking  and  table  utensils,  a  smok- 
ing-room, reading-room,  and  conversation-room,  and  then  a  bed 
at  night — all  for  threepence  1  Belonging  to  the  ratepayers  them- 
selves— under  the  management  of  the  corporation — and  paying 
a  profit  so  that  you  can  go  on  improving  and  extending.  Why, 
every  big  town  in  the  kingdom  ought  to  have  a  municipal  lodg- 
ing-house, or  half  a  dosen  of  them ;  and  it  only  needs  to  be 
shown  how  they  are  worked  for  the  example  to  be  copied  every- 
where— ^" 

<'  And  when  do  you  go,  Vincent  f '  she  asked,  with  downcast 
eyrs. 

•'Oh,  I  aia  not  sure  yet,"  he  made  answer,  cheerfully.  "Of 
coarse,  I  ought  in  duty  to  go,  but  it  will  cost  me  half  what  1  shall 
get  for  the  article.  However,  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 
But  if  this  is  to  be  our  Ust  night  together  for  a  little  while, 
Maisrie,"  he  went  on,  to  keep  up  his  complacent  acquiescence  in 
this  temporary  separation,  "  you  might  give  us  a  little  music, 
won't  you  t  Yon  haven't  had  the  violin  out  of  its  case  for  a  long 
time." 

She  was  very  obedient.  She  went  and  got  the  violin,  though 
she  was  in.no  playing  or  singing  mood. 

"  What,  then,  grandfather !"  she  said,  when  she  was  ready. 

"  Whatever  you  please." 

Then  she  began,  and  very  slowly  and  tenderly  she  played  the 
air  of  a  Scotch  song,  "  Annie's  'iVyst."  It  is  a  simple  air,  and 
yet  pathetic  in  its  way ;  and,  inaeed,  so  sensitive  and  skilful  was 
her  touch  that  the  violin  seemed  to  speak ;  any  one  familiar  with 
the  song  might  have  imagined  he  could  bear  the  words  inter- 
penetrating those  vibrant  notes : 


ii 


i  1 


808  nAtm  wxn,  OBAio-aoTsroNi 

*"  "  Tonr  hud  it  otnld  u  nww,  Annk^ 

T"our  cheek  is  wan  and  white ; 
What  gan  je  tremble  lae,  Annie  f 

What  malti  your  e'e  mm  bright  f" 
"  The  raaw  ia  on  the  ground,  Willie^ 

The  froit  ia  oauid  and  Iceen, 
Bat  there's  a  burning  fire,  Wiilie, 

That  sears  my  heart  within." 

"  •  ••  Oh,  wUi  ye  tryst  wi'  me,  Anpie, 

Oh,  will  ye  tryst  me  then? 
rU  meet  ye  by  the  br.m,  Annie, 

That  wimples  do#n  the  glen." 
"  I  dauma  tiyst  wi'  you,  Willie, 

I  dauma  tryst  ye  here. 
But  we'll  hold  our  tryst  in  hea?eB,  Willk^ 

In  the  springtime  o'  the  year." ' " 

"That  is  too  sad,  Maisrie,"  her  grandfather  said,  fretfully. 
"  Why  don't  you  sing  something  ?" 

She  turned  to  Vincent ;  there  was  a  mate  question  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Will  yon  sing  the  « Claire  Fontaine,'  Maisrie  T'  said  he. 

She  seemed  a  little  surprised ;  it  was  a  strange  song  to  ask  for 
on  a  night  of  farewell,  but  she  did  as  she  was  bidden.  She  went 
•nd  got  the  book  and  placed  it  open  before  her  on  the  table,  and 
then  she  drew  her  bow  across  the  strings. 

But  hardly  had  she  begun  to  sing  the  little  ballad  than  it  be- 
came evident  there  was  something  added  to  the  pure,  clear  tones 
of  her  voice,  some  quality  of  an  indefinable  nature,  some  alien 
influence  that  might  at  any  moment  prove  too  strong  for  her 
self-control. 

"'Sur  hi  plus  liaute  branche— *" 

this  was  the  point  at  which  she  began — 

" 'Lo  rossignol  chantait: 
Chante,  rosslgnol,  chante, 
Toi  qui  as  le  cmur  gaL'" 

And  80  far  all  was  well ;  but  at  the  refrain,  '     "'      ' 

"'Lui  y  a  longtemps  que  je  t'aime^ 
Jamais  je  ne  t'onblierai,'" 

her  voice  shook  a  little,  and  her  lips  were  tremulous.    Vincent 
cursed  his  folly  a  hundred  times  oven    Why  had  he  asked  her 


■TAMO   WAm,  0«AIChBOTITOHt 


80» 


af.'fe' 


ler  Bud,  fretfully. 

e  qaestion  in  her 

rie  r*  said  he. 
ge  song  to  ask  for 
bidden.   She  went 
tr  on  the  table,  and 

ballad  than  it  be- 
e  pure,  clear  tones 
nature,  some  alien 
oo  strong  for  her 


to  sing  the  "  Claire  Fontaine  "  f    But  still  she  held  bivrely  on  i 

"  'Chante,  roMignol,  ehant«, 
Toiqol  u  le  coBur  gal; 
V,  Tu  u  la  ooBur  k  tin, 

Moi  ja  r  ai-t-ik  plaurai^' " 

And  here  she  could  go  no  further  for  those  choking  tears  in  her 
voice ;  she  stood  for  a  moment  all  uncertain,  trying  to  master 
herself;  then  she  kud  the  "'olin  on  the  table,  and,  with  a  broken 
"  Good-night,  Vincent— and  good-bye  1"  she  turned  and  left  the 
room,  her  hands  hiding  her  face,  her  frame  shaken  by  the  vio- 
lence of  her  sobbing. 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence. 

"  Yes,  it  is  time  she  was  taken  away,"  old  George  Bethune 
said,  with  a  deep  frown  on  his  shaggy  eyebrows.  ^  Her  nerves 
are  all  wrong.  Why  should  she  make  such  a  to-do  about  leav- 
ing London  for  a  fortnight  f" 

But  Vincent  Harris  knew  better  than  that.  It  was  not  this 
unexpected  departure  that  was  in  Maisrie's  mind :  it  was  the 
words  that  he  had  spoken  to  her,  and  she  to  him,  earlier  in  the 
evening.  It  was  of  no  fortnight's  absence  she  was  thinking,  but 
of  a  far  wider  and  longer  farewell. 


■W 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

THn     ONAWIRO     FOX. 


tnulous.    Vincent 
lad  he  asked  her 


But  Vincent  was  not  disheartened  by  those  ominona  words  of 
hers,  not  even  on  the  following  morning,  when  he  fonnd  the  lit- 
tle thoroughfare  so  strangely  silent  and  empty,  and  the  two  win- 
dows over  the  way  become  vacant  and  devoid  of  charm.  H''  had 
the  high  courage  and  impetuous  will  of  youth ;  seeing  no  diffi- 
culties or  dangers  ahead,  he  refused  to  believe  in  any ;  Maisrie 
had  not  denied  him  her  love,  therefore  nhe  must  be  his  wife ; 
and  all  the  future  shone  fair.  And  so  he  set  to  work  on  his 
Mendover  lecture ;  and  made  good  progress,  even  if  his  thonghts 
went  sometimes  flying  away  down  to  Brighton.  As  for  the  lect- 
ure itself— wo'i,  perhaps  certun  of  its  contentions  and  illustra- 
tions wouH  have  surprised  and  even  shocked  tha«  Coromnnisfc 
14 


910 


STAITD  FAIT,  OKAIO-mOTtfOW  t 


eapitalwt,  his  futher;  bat  th«  jonng  num  wm  MCtiitomed  to 
think  for  himself. 

Yes,  this  little  street  waa  terribly  empty,  and  those  windows 
indescribably  bhink.  And  the  room  was  lonely,  work  or  no  work. 
But  as  be  was  standing  looking  oat,  cigarette  in  hand,  after  his 
frugal  luncheon,  a  happy  inspiration  sprang  into  his  head ;  for 
here  was  Hobson,  the  hasband  of  the  landlady  across  the  way, 
coming  along  the  pavement ;  and  would  it  not  be  a  comforting 
thing  to  have  him  in  to  talk  about  the  two  lodgers  who  had  just 
leftt  Vincent  opened  the  window  a  bit,  and  said  into  the  street 
(there  was  no  need  to  call),  .,  .....  ,. .;  ,^ 

"  Hobson !"  "  >itf>ti*  '.:■>  hrKytnl  a,.-  w»t  *5?'^P 

The  man  looked  up.    ;,^jvj&  ,v>v?^«,-'.  s..-  iM  >»iji  »-  i>  M^.J^ 
"  Yes,  sir."  ',?4.l%y '  Ji^'#'a,<5i<f.  p.  'j^^!^'  .■ 

"I  want  you  for  a  moment"  *      '      ' ''     --r     -  %- 

Then  Vincent  went  himself  down-atuiv  and  opened  the  door ; 
and  here  was  the  shabby-genteel  ex-bntler,  obsequiously  waiting, 
with  an  excess  of  iiQ.b«<ule  amiability  in  hia  w«ak,  prominent, 
nervous  eyes.    ,.-;..i  ^j  t,,;*  ii*u,.  .);s1  *ii  «.'?'-^w; : 

"  Come  in  and  have  a  smoke,  Hobson,**  the  young  man  said. 
"You  mast  be  lonely  over  there  now.  Makes  a  difference, 
doesn't  it  r 

"  Wonderful,  sir,  wonderful ;"  and  the  docile  Hobson  obe- 
diently followed  ap  the  stairs,  and  accepted  a  big  cigar,  and  was 
prevailed  on  to  draw  in  a  chair  to  the  fire.  Vincent  took  a  seat 
opposite  him,  and  lit  another  cigarette  —  in  a  quite  friendly 
fashion. 

*<  You've  seen  a  good  deal  of  Mr.  Bethune  since  he  came  to 
live  in  your  house  f"  the  young  man  began,  in  a  sort  of  tentative 
and  encouraging  way.  And  Hobson  responded  with  instant 
enthusiasm, 

"  Ah,  yes,  indc<id,  sir,  and  proud  of  the  same.  A  great  man, 
sir — oh,  a  very  great  man — and  how  he  came  to  be  where  he  is, 
sir — well,  that  beats  me,  sir.  And  that  haffable,  sir ! — if  he  'are 
something  on  the  table,  he'll  say, '  Hobson,  bring  two  tumblers' — 
yes,  sir — '  Hobson,  bring  two  tumblers  * — and  1  must  take  a  seat, 
jnst  as  kind  and  condescending  as  you  are,  sir.  '  Fill  your  ghus, 
Hobson,'  he  says,  just  that  h^Iable  like — " 

<<  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Vincent,  looking  guiltily  tow- 
ards bis  vacant  sideboard.    **  The  fact  is,  I  haven't  anything  of 


^m 


Diri 

1  was  Mcuttomed  to 


r,  and  those  windows 
ely,  work  or  no  work, 
tte  in  hand,  after  his 
ig  into  his  head ;  for 
ilady  across  the  way, 
\,  not  be  a  comforting 
lodgers  who  had  just 
kd  said  into  the  street 

•U'""'  ' 
ind  opened  the  cl6or; 
obsequiously  waiting, 
his  weak,  prominent, 

'  the  young  man  said. 
Makes  a  difference, 

)  docile  Hobson  obe- 
id  a  big  cigar,  and  was 
I.  Vincent  took  a  seat 
—in  a  quite  friendly 

^une  since  he  came  to 
a,  in  a  sort  of  tentative 
Bsponded  with  instant 

e  same.  A  great  roan, 
same  to  be  where  he  is, 
sffable,  sir  1— if  he  'ave 
,  bring  two  tumblers' — 
■and  1  must  take  a  seat, 
•e,  sir.  ♦  Fill  your  gbss, 

it,  looking  guiltily  tow- 
1,1  haren't  anything  of 


STAND  VAST,  OSAIO-nOTSTOlT  I 

the  kind  in  these  rooms ;  but  I  can  send  out  Which  would  yon 
ike,  gin  or  whiskey  f* 

"  Whichever  yon  please,"  said  Hobson  complacently,  "  being 
so  kind  as  to  think  of  it,  sir." 

The  necessary  fluid  was  soon  procured ;  and  Hobson  was  lib> 
erally  helped.  And  when  at  length  he  began  to  expatiate  on  the 
character  and  the  wonderful  attainments  and  abilities  of  Maisrie's 
grandfather,  there  may  have  been  a  little  exaggeration  (for  gin 
tends  towards  exaggeration)  in  his  speech ;  but  his  aim  and  ad- 
miration were  genuine  enough  at  the  core.  Uo  grovelled  in  the 
dust  before  that  impressive  old  man.  He  spoke  in  almost  a 
breathless  way  of  his  "  haflability."  Why,  that  a  great  personage 
in  literature  should  condescend  to  read  his  (Hobson's)  poor  litUe 
verses  was  extraordinary ;  but  that  he  should  give  advice,  too, 
and  encouragement — that  was  overwhelming.  And  as  for  the 
young  lady — ^bnt  here  Hobson's  language  failed  him.  With  tears 
in  his  eyes  he  declared  that  she  was  an  "  hangel  of  sweetness  "— 
which  did  not  convey  much  to  Vincent's  eager-listening  ears. 
But  when  he  went  on  to  tell  about  all  sorts  of  little  acts  of  kind- 
ness and  consideration — when  he  spoke  of  her  patience  with  the 
old  gentleman's  temper,  of  her  cheerfulness  over  snudl  disap- 
pointments happening  to  herself,  of  her  gentleness,  and  sunni- 
ness,  and  invariable  good-humor — here  he  was  on  more  intelligi- 
ble ground ;  'and  his  delighted  and  grateful  audience  was  not 
slow  to  press  on  him  another  cigar,  which  was  not  refused. 
Indeed,  what  with  so  much  courtesy  shown  him,  and  what 
with  the  stimulating  influence  of  the  gin-and-water,  Hobson 
grew  valiant ;  and  began  to  broach  wild  and  iconoclastic  theories 
about  filthy  lucre,  and  to  describe  in  dark  colors  the  character  of 
any  one — ^presumably  his  own  wife — who  could  be  so  base  as  to 
take  every  farthing  of  her  rent,  fortnight  after  fortnight,  from  a 
grand  and  noble  old  gentlemen  and  &  beautiful  young  lady,  both 
of  whom  seemed  to  have  known  better  days. 

"Do  yon  know  how  long  they  are  to  be  awayf  Vinceat 
asked. 

"Well,  sir,  the  old  gentleman,  sir — he  says  perhaps  two 
weeks,  and  perhaps  three." 

"^I  see  you've  put  up  a  notice  that  the  rooms  are  to  be  let." 

"  Tes,  sir ;  buiihat  ain't  much  use,  not  for  so  short  a  time,  sir." 

And  here  another  sudden  fancy  struck  the  young  man. 


i 


-i 


ill 


tTAVD  VAtr,  OKAIO-ROTtTOir  I 


"  But  I  know  how  yoa  c«n  get  them  let,"  Mid  he. 

"Uow,  sirl" 

"  You  can  let  th^tn  to  me."  *     '■ 

"  L»w,  sir  I" 

There  waa  a  doubtful  look  about  Hobson's  big,  vacuous  eyea ; 
being  of  a  poetic  and  eenBitivo  nature,  ho  did  not  like  jokea,  and 
waa  anapicious.  However,  the  young  gentlem<^n,  to  judge  by  hia 
manner,  seemed  fair  and  honest  and  above  board. 

"  I  will  take  them,"  said  Vincent,  "  until  Mr.  Bethnne  and  his 
granddaughter  come  back.  Not  to  occupy  them  myself,  you  un- 
derstand ;  but  I  don't  want  any  stranger  to  be  going  into  those 
rooms,  you  see — that  is  all." 

**  How  kind,  air — how  thoughtful !"  Hobson  said  in  a  pathetic 
way.     "  What  it  is  to  have  good,  kind  friends  1" 

"  And  as  the  rooms  are  now  mine,  I  suppose  I  might  go  over 
and  look  at  them — if  you  will  finish  up  your  tumbler?" 

"  Certainly,  sir,  certainly,"  Hobson  said,  jumping  to  his  feet 
with  aUcrity,  and  hastily  draining  his  glass.  "  T!>y're  all  tidied 
up,  sir,  against  the  chance  of  a  lodger.  And  won't  the  missus 
be  surprised  I  For  the  women,  sir — the  women,  you  see,  sir — 
they  likes  to  haggle  and  bargain  ;  but  with  men,  sir — begging 
your  pardon,  sir — it's  a  word  and  done  1"       ,.    i^fv'  v/: 

Indeed,  he  seemed  quite  proud  of  the  promptitude  with  which 
he  had  conducted  and  concluded  this  negotiation ;  and  it  was 
with  an  unusual  air  of  authority  and  importance  that  he  led  the 
way  up-stairs  and  showed  Vincent  into  the  little  parlor,  with 
which  he  waa  already  abundantly  familiar.  There  were  few 
alterations.  The  old  man's  books,  Maisrie's  music,  and  similar 
personal  belongings  had  disappeared,  and  a  hideous  purple  vaao 
stood  for  ornament  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  The  pallid  litho* 
graphs  were  still  on  the  walls ;  Maisrie's  chrysanthemums  were 
oat  there  in  the  little  iron  balcony. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  rooms  up-stairs,  sirf 

The  young  man  hesitated  for  a  second. 

"  Oh,  very  well." 

Hobson  led  the  way  up  to  the  next  landing ;  and  there  the 
flnt  door  he  came  to  he  flung  wide  open. 

'*  The  young  lady's  room,  sir." 

Bat  Vincent  did  not  accept  the  implied  invitation.  He  bang 
•hamefacedly  bacL 


•••<!*•■ 


ri 
wid  be. 


big,  Tftcooas  eyes ; 

not  like  jokes,  and 

.tn,  to  judge  by  bis 

tard. 

r.  fietbune  and  bis 

am  myself,  you  nn- 

e  going  into  tbose 

1  said  in  a  pathetic 

Bl" 

M  I  migbt  go  orer 
tumbler?" 
imping  to  bis  feet 
'They're all  tidied 
i  won't  tbe  missus 
len,  you  see,  sir — 
men,  sir — begging 

ptitude  with  wbicb 
ation  ;  and  it  wae 
ice  tbat  be  led  the 
little  parlor,  with 

There  were  few 
nasio,  and  simibv;^ 
deouB  porple  vaA) 

The  pallid  litho* 
Baathemams  wen 

,  sirf 


ig;  and  there  the 


tation.    He  hnng 


•TAKD  FAST,  OkAIO-kOTaTOlf  I 


S18 


"  Ob,  yes,  that's  all  right,"  said  be.     I-I-only  wished  to- 
to  have  it  kept  for  her." 

And  yet  he  lingered  for  another  second  at  the  door  of  this 
chamber— that  seemed  so  sacred— that  seemed  to  shut  him  out 
Ho  could  see  the  dressing-uble,  the  chest  of  drawers,  the  neaUy 
folded  bed,  the  rather  dingy  window. 

"  Look  here,  Hobson,"  said  he,  "  if  I  were  to  get  a  few  tbingsi 
to  Make  the  room  a  little  more  cheerful,  I  suppose  that  could  be 
<lono  without  letting  Miss  Bethune  know  who  sent  them  f  The 
looking-glass  there,  you  know :  this  is  not  tbe  right  kind  of 
thing  at  all.  There  should  be  a  pretty  mirror  on  tbe  dressing-teble, 
with  some  lace  round  the  top  of  it " 

Here  be  ventured  in  half  a  step  or  so,  and  rather  timidly 
looked  round. 

"  That  one  gas-jet  can't  be  half  enough  when  Miss  Bothune  is 
dressing  to  go  out  in  the  evening,"  be  said,  complaiiiingly— per. 
haps  to  conceal  bis  incomprehensible  diflBdfcnce  and  shynesa 
"  She  must  have  candles— one  on  each  side  of  tbe  mirror,  for 
example.  And  that  screen  across  the  window  — why,  it  is  so 
common ;  it  ought  to  be  a  piece  of  pale  silk,  to  let  the  Hirht 
through."  ■ 

He  ventured  a  few  inches  farther,  and  again  looked  round. 

"  What  do  you  call  that  thing?— tbe  coverlet  — the  counter- 
pane, isn't  it?  Well,  it  shouldn't  be  white  and  cold  and  cheer- 
less  hke  tbat;  it  should  be  a  deep  crimson  satin,  and  there 
should  be  pretty  things  at  tbe  head  of  the  bed— loops  and  bows 
of  bbon.  My  goodness  I  what  is  Mrs.  Hobson  about  ?  a  younir 
lady's  room  shouldn't  be  like  a  cell  in  a  prison." 

"  Iaw,  sir  I  I'm  very  sorry,"  Hobson  said  in  a  bewildered  way ; 
a  crimson  satin  coveriet  sounded  a  grand  thing,  but  it  also  meant 
8  heap  of  money. 

"  But  come  away  out  and  I  will  talk  to  you,"  Vincent  said,  just 
as  if  they  were  in  a  mysteriously  sacr  d  shrine,  where  the  discus- 
sion of  business  affairs  was  a  sort  of  profanation ;  or  perhaps  he 
resented  the  intrusion  of  tbe  amiable  but  gin-odorons  Hobson! 
At  all  events,  he  did  not  resume  the  conversation  until  they  were 
both  down-stairs  again  in  the  parlor. 

"  You  understand,  then,"  be  said— and  there  was  ao  more 
timidity  about  his  speech  now— "I  am  willing  to  get  a  number 
of  things  for  the  room,  and  to  make  you  and  Mrs.  Hobson  s 


•14 


■TARD   VAST,  OMAIO-KOYfTOll  I 


present  of  them,  on  the  distinct  condition  thst  Miss  Betbnno  is 
kept  in  ubsoluto  ignorance  how  thuy  catno  there.  One  word  to 
her,  and  out  they  come  again,  every  rag  and  stick.  Why,  you 
can  easily  invent  evcuses  I  You  can  tell  them  you  took  the  op- 
portunity of  their  absence  to  brighten  up  the  place  a  bit.  It  is 
in  your  own  interest  to  keep  the  rooms  smart;  it  doesn't  imply 
any  favor  conferred  on  your  lodgers.     Don't  you  see  T' 

"  Yes,  sir.  Very  kind  of  yon,  sir,  indeed,"  said  Ilobson,  who 
seemed  a  little  confused.     *'And  what  did  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"  Do  t  I  want  you  to  do  nothing ;  and  I  want  you  to  say 
nothing.  Don't  you  understand  ?  I  am  going  to  send  in  a  few 
things  to  smarten  up  that  roon.,  and  they  arc  yours  so  long  as 
not  any  one  of  you  hints  to  Miss  Uethune  where  they  came  from. 
Isn't  that  simple  enough  t" 

But  far  less  simple  was  his  own  part  in  this  transaction,  as  he 
was  speedily  to  discover.  For  when  ho  went  outside  again  and 
made  away  towards  Regent  Street,  thinking  he  would  go  to  a 
famous  shop  there  and  buy  all  sorts  of  pretty  things,  it  grad- 
ually dawned  on  him  that  ^e  had  undertaken  a  task  entirely  be- 
yond his  knowledge.  For  example,  ^  9  could  purchase  any  quanti- 
ty of  crimson  satin,  but  how  or  where  was  he  going  to  get  it 
made  up  into  a  coverlet,  or  counterpane,  or  quilt,  or  whatever  the 
thing  was  called  I  Then  supposing  he  had  the  mirror  and  the 
lace,  who  was  going  to  put  the  lace  round  the  top  of  tho  mirror? 
— he  could  not  do  that  for  himself.  A  little  set  of  ornamental 
bookshelves  be  could  buy,  certainly ;  but  how  was  be  going  to 
ask  for  the  bows  of  ribbon,  or  the  silk  drapery,  or  whatever  it 
was  that  ought  to  adorn  the  brass  rods  at  the  head  of  the  bed  ? 
The  more  he  considered  the  mai,ter  the  more  clearly  he  saw  that 
be  must  consult  a  woman,  and  the  only  woman  he  could  consult 
in  confidence  was  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Ellison,  who  had  now  returned 
to  Brighton.  And  perhaps  he  strove  to  conceal  from  himself 
what  it  was  that  so  easily  and  naturally  drew  his  thoughts  to 
Brighton ;  perhaps  he  was  hardly  himse^  aware  how  this  secret 
hunger  of  the  soul  was,  minute  by  minute  and  hour  by  hour,  in- 
creasing in  its  demands.  Maisrie  had  not  been  so  long  away ; 
but  already  he  felt  that  one  brief  glimpse  of  bar,  no  matter  at 
what  distance,  would  be  a  priceless  thing.  And  then  again  it 
wonld  not  be  breaking  any  compact  He  would  not  seek  to  go 
near  ber,  if  there  was  this  understanding  that  these  two  were  for 

-,    -ax 


>  iwUMiauti  ^-m  i»  i^ww 


be  head  of  the  bed  ? 
e  clearly  he  saw  that 
aan  he  could  consult 
10  bad  now  returned 
onceal  from  himself 
rew  his  thoughts  to 
ware  how  this  secret 
nd  hour  by  hour,  in- 
been  BO  long  away ; 
of  her,  no  matter  at 
And  then  again  it 
rould  not  seek  to  go 
it  these  two  were  for 


\-,:ii^'i-ii:,^^MiddfM&A^tM.ikM^Baei^^ 


■■''.^■.'".^■.- ■■ --ji.r.j'-  ..-,;''i\'.!;:i.ijiiv->«it;iA^i»Kil£Sy'i:^'*".li,'jiiiL?J.i.v.'>;^ 


■(-.. 


^^jif^ 


*  '-.  -I 


y.  ■  •  1'    ■     »t'. 


■'■  li' wwii^ri.  Ai  .1  jjjftfUtwT  f  liliWi 


■TAMO  VAST,   ORAIO^BOTBTOVI 


815 


the  present  separated  the  one  from  the  other.  She  would  not 
even  know  he  was  in  the  town.  And  aarely  it  would  be  a  new 
and  wonderful  experience  to  look  at  Maisrie  from  afar  off,  as  if 
she  were  a  stranger. 

So,  instead  of  going  to  Regent  Street,  he  went  to  the  nearest 
post-office  and  telegraphed  to  Mrs.  Ellison,  asking  if  she  could 
take  him  in  for  a  day  or  two.  Then  he  walked  on  home ;  and 
by  the  time  he  had  reached  Grosvenor  Place  the  answer  was 
there  awaiting  him :  he  was  to  go  down  at  once.  He  put  a  few 
things  in  his  bag,  jumped  into  a  hansom  and  drove  to  Victoria 
Station,  caught  the  4.30  train,  and  eventually  arrived  at  Bruns- 
wick Terrace  about  six.  He  guessed  that  his  aunt's  afternoon 
visitors  would  be  gone,  and  he  would  hzvi>  ample  opportunity  of 
a  long  talk  with  her  before  dinner 

His  anticipations  proved  correct.  When  he  was  shown  into  the 
big  drawing-room — which  looked  very  snug  and  warm  amid  its 
magnificeuce — he  found  the  tall  and  bright-eyed  young  w'dow 
in  sole  possession ;  and  she  came  forward  to  welcome  him  rvitb 
great  complaisance.  ^ 

"  Very  sensible  of  yon,  Vin.  You  know  I  can  always  makis 
room  for  you,  no  matter  wbc  is  in  the  house."        ;  ,.^J 

"If  I  had  gone  to  a  hotel,  aunt,  you  would  bv.e  made  an 
awful  row ;  and  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  you  just  at  present 
The  fact  is,  I  Lave  come  to  you  for  advice  and  help,"  said  he. 
"  But  first — my  congratulations  I  I  was  hardly  surprised  when 
I  got  /  'ur  letter,  find  I  aiu  sure  no  one  can  wish  you  more  hap- 
piness than  I  do — "      ;,j  ,  ; 

"Oh,  bo  quiet,"  she  said,  and  she  took  a  seat  at  a  little  di»- 
tance  from  the  fire  by  the  side  o)  a  small  table,  and  put  a  fan 
between  her  eyes  and  the  crimson-shaded  lamp.  "  Congratula- 
tions! Weil,  I  suppose  there  are  no  fools  like  old  fools.  Bat 
if  grown-up  people  will  play  at  being  children,  and  amuse  them- 
selves by  writing  things  in  the  sand  —  did  I  tell  you  how  it  ail 
happened  ? — they  must  take  the  consequences.  And  I,  who  used 
to  be  so  content  1  Haven't  I  often  told  you  i  Perhaps  I  boasted 
too  much — ^" 

"  Oh,  yes,  pretend  you  regret  it !"  said  he,  "  And  you  talk  of 
your  being  so  old— you  I  Why,  what  girl  of  all  your  acquaint- 
ance has  half  your  life  and  spirit,  or  half  your  good  looks, 
either!" 


ai6 


BTAVD   VAST,  OBAIO-BOTBTOin 


"Vincent  Harris,"  said  she,  and  she  turned  roand  and  feced 
him,  "  wLat  do  you  want  ?" 

He  langhed.  • 

"  It  is  a  very  siaapio  matter,  annt" 

And  then  be  began  to  tell  her  of  the  little  predicament  in 
which  he  was  placed ;  and  to  beseech  her  help.  Woald  she 
come  and  choose  the  things  for  him  f  There  were  plenty  of 
bric-4-brac  shops  in  Brighton ;  she  woald  know  what  was  most 
appropriate :  her  own  house  was  evidence  of  her  taste.  But  his 
ingenious  flattery  was  of  no  avail.  Mrs.  Ellison's  face  grew  more 
und  more  serious,  until  at  length  she  exclaimed : 

"  Why,  Vin^  this  is  the  very  madness  of  infatuation !  And  I 
had  been  hoping  for  far  other  things.  I  had  imagined  from  the 
tone  of  your  last  letter  that  perhaps  there  might  be  a  change — 
that  your  eyes  had  been  opened  at  last  So  this  is  going  oa  jsist 
tae  same  as  ever  f " 

"  It  is  going  on,  as  you  call  it,  aunt,  and  is  likely  to  go  on — 
so  long  as  I  live." 

"  Then  I,  for  one,  wish  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she  said, 
sharply.  "  And  this  last  proposal  is  really  too  audacious.  What 
business  have  you  witih  that  girl's  room  t  what  right  have  you  to 
go  into  it !" 

He  was  rather  taken  aback  for  a  moment 

"  Business  ?  Oh,  none,  of  course.  None  whatever — that  is  to 
say — oh,  yes,  I  have,  though ! — I  have  a  perfect  right  to  go  into 
it-  The  room  is  not  hers ;  it  is  mine.  1  have  paid  for  it  When 
she  comes  back  it  will  bo  hers ;  and  where  is  the  harm  of  her 
finding  it  a  little  prettier?  that  is  all." 

"  I  must  say,  Yin,"  she  continued  in  a  very  reserved  fashion, 
"that  the  infatuatioa  of  a  young  man  may  excuse  a  good  deal ; 
but  this  is  a  little— a  little  too  much.  Do  you  consider  it  quite 
nice — quite  becoming !  A  satin  counterpane  I  I  wonder  what 
the  girl  would  think  herself,  if  she  has  any  refinement  of  feel- 
ing— if  she  has  any  delicacy — " 

His  face  grew  very  pale. 

** '  If  she  has  any  refinement  of  feeling — if  she  has  any  deli- 
cacy,' "  he  repeated. 

Then  he  arose. 

*<  It  is  useless  to  say  anything  further,  aunt ;  there  is  an  end 
this  time." 


f1 


8TA1ID   TABT,  0BAIO-BOY8TOM  I 


217 


)d  round  and  faced 


*iTj5VJS!  se- 
ttle predicament  in 
help.  Would  she 
liere  were  plenty  of 
now  what  was  most 
:  her  taste.  But  his 
on's  face  grew  more 
led: 

infatuation !  And  I 
1  imagined  from  the 
night  bo  a  change — 
this  is  going  os  jsist 

is  likely  to  go  on — 

do  with  it,"  she  sud, 
DO  audacious.  What 
lat  right  hare  yon  to 


whatever — that  is  to 

feet  right  to  go  into 

paid  for  it  When 

is  the  harm  of  her 

iry  reserved  fashion, 
excuse  a  good  deal ; 
rpu  consider  it  quite 
ne  1  I  wonder  what 
refinement  of  feel- 


-if  she  has  any  deli- 


tnt ;  there  is  an  end 


But  she  had  risen,  too.  He  tried  to  pass  her,  and  failed ;  nay, 
she  went  to  the  door,  and  stood  with  her  back  against  it,  and 
faced  him. 

"  No,  you  shall  not  go,"  she  said.  '<  Why  should  there  be  any 
dissension  I  You  are  my  own  dear  boy ;  I  would  do  anything 
fur  you,  except  in  this  one  direction — " 

"  Except  in  this  one  direction  1"  he  repeated,  scornfully. 

"  Why  cannot  we  remain  friends  t"  she  said,  with  appealing 
eyes — "  good  and  true  friends,  and  agree  to  leave  this  one  sub- 
ject alone !" 

"This  one  subject — that  is  my  life!"  he  said,  vehemently. 
"  What  folly  you  talk  I  You  wish  to  cut  away  the  very  ihing  I 
live  for — the  very  thing  that  is  my  life ;  and  to  continue  your 
friendship  with  what  remains — a  senseless  stick  or  stone  I  And 
why }  Because  of  your  insensate  prejudice,  your  cruel  and  base- 
less suspicions.  Why  do  yon  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  boy  ?  I 
have  seen  twice  as  much  of  the  world  as  yon  have ;  I  have  had 
better  opportunities  of  learning  how  to  jndge  strangers.  But 
you — you  live  in  a  narrow  groove ;  you  have  your  maid  to  talk 
to — your  acquaintances  \o  call  in  the  afternoon — ^your  friends  to 
dinner — and  what  besides  f  That  is  your  world.  What  do  yoa 
know  of  the  human  beings  outside  it  f  Must  they  all  be  dishon- 
est, because  they  have  not  been  heard  of  by  your  handful  of  a 
set?  Must  they  all  be  thieves  and  swindlers  because  they  are 
not  in  the  Court  Directory  f  But  it  is  little  matter.  If  this  sub^ 
jcct  is  debarred,  then  all  is  debarred,  as  between  you  and  me. 
You  can  go  your  own  way,  and  I  mine.  I  did  expect,  now  that 
you  have  your  own  happiness  secured,  you  might  show  some  lit- 
tle generosity,  some  little  sympathy ;  but  I  see  it  is  different ; 
and  I  will  not  allow  one  who  is  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  world 
to  be  treated  with  such  enmity,  while  I  am  supposed  to  stand  by 
and  accept  it  as  a  natural  condition  of  affairs.  I  do  not ;  I  have 
had  enough.  And  so  here  is  an  end,  as  between  you  and  me, 
and  I  hope  you  will  have  more  happiness  than  you  seem  to  wish 
f  J."  other  people." 

Well,  Mrs.  Ellison  was  not  used  to  giving  way ;  but  she  was 
very  fond  of  this  proud  and  handsome  bo^  ;  and  she  gave  just 
one  sob,  and  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  not  very  kind,  Vin,"  she  said. 

And  ''vhat  marvellous  thing  iiras  this  that  instantaneously  smote 
K 


S18 


■TARo  wxn.  0»AIO-BOT«iroir  I 


his  heart  f  Why,  Maisrie  had  made  ase  of  this  yery  ex|>re8Bion 
on  the  preceding  afternoon  1  And  all  of  a  sudden  he  seemed  to 
recognize  that  his  adversary  here  was  a  woman  ;  she  was  akin  to 
his  beloved,  and  therefore  to  be  treated  gently.  Maisrie's  voice 
and  eyes  seemed  to  be  pleading  for  her.  Surely  that  was  enough ! 
He  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said : 

"  Very  well ;  lef  it  be  as  you  wish.  We  shall  see  how  we  get 
on,  with  the  one  thing  that  is  of  more  importance  to  me  than 
anything  else  shut  out  from  mention.  But  I  must  say  this  to 
you,  aunt  I  do  not  see  that  I  am  doing  anything  that  the  most 
fastidious  person  can  object  to,  if  I  put  a  few  pretty  things  into 
the  room  of  the  girl  who  is  to  be  my  wife." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  she  is  to  be  your  wife,  Yin  f  she 
said,  rather  sadly. 

"  I  know,"  he  made  answer. 

'*  My  poor  boy  !"  she  said ;  and  then  she  took  hi  n  by  the  hand 
and  led  him  back  to  the  littlu  table  at  which  they  had  been  sit- 
ting ;  and  there  they  had  some  further  conversation  about  more 
or  less  indifferent  things,  with  the  one  all-important  subject  care- 
fully avoided.  And  then  it  was  time  for  them  to  go  away  and 
dress  for  dinner. 

Lord  Musselburgh  dined  with  them  that  evening,  and  remained 
some  time  after  the  other  goests  had  gone.  To  Vincent  it  seemed 
a  puzzling  thing  that  two  betrothed  people  should  make  so  meny. 
*rhey  appeared  so  well  content  with  their  present  estate ;  they 
were  so  assured  as  to  the  future ;  no  anxieties ;  no  conflicting 
hopes  and  fears ;  they  were  in  the  happieet  mood.  Next  morn- 
ing, too.  Lord  Musselburgh  again  made  his  appearance ;  and  the 
three  of  them  went  out  for  a  stroll  along  the  promenade.  All 
the  world  was  shining,  fair,  and  clear ;  Mrs.  Ellison  was  looking 
her  best,  and  seemed  to  know  it ;  her  Jianei  was  in  a  gay  humor. 
Why,  they  were  almost  like  the  "  lover  and  his  lass  "  of  whom 
Thomas  Morley  sang  nigh  three  hundred  years  ago  —  those 
'* pretty  country  folks"  who  lived  in  a  perpetual  springtime, 
with  birds  singing  hey-ding-a-ding-a-ding  to  them  through  all 
the  jocund  hours.  The  tall  and  elegant  young  widow  blushed 
and  laughed  like  a  maid;  her  eyes  were  sarcastic,  playful, 
amueed,  according  to  her  varying  mood ;  the  sunlight  touched 
her  protty  brown  hair.  There  was,  indeed,  a  sort  of  aadacity 
of  comeliness  about  her,  that  set  Vincent  thinking  of  a  very  dif- 


Ill 


STAHD  VAST,  ORAIO-BOTBTOirl 


aio 


this  very  expression 
uddea  he  seemed  to 
AD ;  she  was  akin  to 
Aj.  Maisrie's  voice 
ilj  that  was  enough  t 

ihall  see  how  we  get 
portance  to  me  than 
t  I  mast  say  this  to 
^thing  that  the  most 
w  pretty  things  into 

our  wife,  Vin  f"  she 

>ok  hi  Q  by  the  hand 
h  they  had  been  sit- 
rersation  abont  more 
portant  subject  care- 
hem  to  go  away  and 

rening,  and  remained 
ro  Vincent  it  seemed 
lonld  make  so  merry, 
present  estate;  they 
eties;  no  conflicting 
mood.  Next  mom- 
appearance  ;  and  the 
the  promenade.  All 
.  Ellison  was  looking 
f  was  in  a  gay  humor, 
i  his  bun "  of  whom 
i  years  ago  —  those 
lerpetnal  springtime, 
to  them  through  all 
oung  widow  blushed 
re  sarcast><^.  playful, 
the  sunlight  touched 
1,  a  sort  of  audacity 
linking  of  a  very  dif- 


ferent kind  of  beauty — the  beauty  that  seems  to  be  dowered  with 
a  divine  and  angelic  sadness.  He  was  walking  with  these  two ; 
but  he  did  not  take  part  in  their  frolic  talk ;  nor  did  he  pay 
much  attention  to  the  crowd  of  people,  the  butterflies  of  fashion, 
who  had  come  out  into  the  pleasant  sunshine.  He  seemed  to  see 
before  him  a  face  that,  with  all  its  youth,  and  its  touch  of  color, 
and  its  grace  of  outline,  was  strangely  pensive  and  wistful.  And 
again  he  asked  himself,  as  many  a  time  he  had  asked  himself, 
what  that  expression  meant :  whether  it  had  been  brought  there 
by  experience  of  the  many  vicissitudes  of  life,  or  by  loneliness, 
or  whether  It  was  not  something  more  tragic  still — the  shadow 
of  an  impending  fate.  There  was  more  than  that :  he  could  nut 
understand  her  curious  resignation,  her  hopelessness  as  to  the 
future,  her  wish  to  get  away.  And  what  was  it  she  had  con- 
cealed from  him  f  And  why  had  she  declared  she  could  not  ever 
be  his  wife ! 

"  You  are  very  silent,  Vin,"  his  fair  neighbor  said,  turning  her 
merry  eyes  towards  him  at  last  "Here  is  Lord  Musselburgh 
declaring  that  if  he  were  a  Jew  he  would  turn  dentist,  to  have  it 
out  with  the  Christians  for  what  they  did  in  the  Middle  Ages.  A 
horrid  revenge,  wouldn't  it  be  ? — and  so  mean — under  pretence  of 
affording  relief.  Oh,  look  at  that  girl  over  there — I  do  believe 
the  ruff  is  coming  back — we  shall  all  be  Eliubethans  by-and-by." 

"  But  what  business  had  women  ever  with  ruffs  t"  Lord  Mus- 
Hulburgh  interposed.  "  Why,  when  the  dandies  and  bucks  of 
Ilenry  VIH's  time  began  to  make  themselves  splendid  by  puf- 
fing thomselxes  out  round  the  neck,  of  course  it  was  in  imitation 
of  the  stag — as  the  stag  becomes  when  he  is  supposed  to  capti- 
vate the  fancy  of  the  hinds ;  but  you  don't  find  the  hinds  with 
any  similar  adornments.  Such  things  are  proper  to  males :  why 
should  women  try  to  look  magnificent  round  the  back  of  the 
neck !  Why  should  a  hen  covet  a  cock's-comb  V  It's  all  wrong 
— it's  against  natural  laws." 

"  Natural  laws  in  a  milliner's  shop  I"  she  vAd.  "  Oh,  do  look 
at  those  two  Italian  girls ;  what  Englibb  |>easant-girl  could  choose 
color  like  ^at  f    I  thould  like  to  speak  to  them — for  a  moment." 

Lord  Musselburgh  did  not  seem  inclined  to  interfere. 

"  I  dare  say  they  may  have  been  long  enough  in  England,"  said 
he,  "  to  have  picked  up  a  little  of  the  Italian  that  English  ladies 
speak.     You  may  try  them." 


I 

I 


S90 


BTAiTD  rxn,  OEAio-Roraroiri 


But  she  refrained ;  for  at  this  moment  one  of  thu  girls  began 
to  play  a  few  bars  of  "  Fanicoll-funiculjl,"  eridentljasan  introduc- 
tion to  the  flinging  of  her  companion ;  whereupon  Lord  Mnssel- 
burgh  proposed  that  Mrs.  Ellison  should  oross  over  to  look  at 
the  windows  of  one  or  two  jewellers'  shops — in  which  both  of 
tliom  happened  to  be  much  interested  just  at  this  time. 

The  morning  went  by,  and  Vincent  had  caught  no  glimpse  of 
Maisrie  Bethuno  or  her  gr&ndfatLer ;  but,  indeed,  he  had  not  ex- 
pected that ;  the  old  man  would  be  busy  with  his  books,  and  it  was 
not  likaly  that  Maisrie  would  come  wandering  by  herself  through 
this  fashionable  throng.  When  at  last  the  three  friends  got  back 
to  Brunswick  Terrace,  it  was  close  on  luncheon-time ;  though  here 
Mrs.  Ellison  was  much  surprised  to  learn  that  Lord  Musselburgh 
had  engaged  Vincent  to  lunch  with  him  at  the  Bedford  Hotel. 

"  What's  the  matter f  said  she.     "Business  or  biUiardst" 

"  Neither,"  her  Jianc4  made  answer ;  "  I  only  wanted  to  give 
you  a  little  holiday,  for  an  hour  or  two." 

"  Not  longer,  then,"  she  said.  '*  For  I  am  going  out  driving 
at  three,  and  I  shall  expect  you  both." 

Soon  the  two  young  men  were  seated  at  a  little  window-table 
in  the  spacious  and  cheerful  coffee-room ;  and  again  Vincent  was 
struck  by  the  eminently  practical  manner  in  which  his  companion 
spoke  of  his  forthcoming  marriage.  It  was  going  to  be,  ho 
frankly  intimated,  a  very  useful  arrangement  for  both  Mrs.  Elli- 
ibn  and  himself,  and  their  combined  fortunes  would  enable  them 
to  do  what  hitherto  had  been  impossible  for  either  of  them.  Mrs. 
Ellison  was  fond  of  society ;  he  had  always  looked  forward  to 
the  formation  of  a  political  «a/on  when  once  he  got  married ;  and 
now  he  thought  he  could  afford  to  have  a  much  bigger  house, 
which  would  be  necessary  for  that  purpose,  than  his  present  one 
in  Piccadilly.  Then  there  were  (^peculations  as  to  wheth<:r 
he,  Musselburgh,  ought  to  accept  office — some  subsidiary  office, 
of  course,  as  befitting  his  years — when  his  party  came  into 
power  again.  You  see,  Vin  Harris  was  being  consulted  now  as 
if  he  were  a  friend  of  the  family ;  but  as  for  Vincent's  own 
affairs — not  a  word.  Lord  Musselburgh  had  received  %  hint,  and 
he  was  discretion  itself. 

And  yet  if  ever  iu  his  life  the  younger  of  those  two  friends 
had  neeid  of  a  confidant,  it  was  that  afternoon ;  for  something 
then  happened  that  seemed  to  strike  at  the  very  roots  of  his 


iri 

e  of  tho  girls  began 
lentlj  as  an  introduc- 
«apon  Lord  Mnssel- 
ross  over  to  look  at 
) — in  which  both  of 
kt  this  time, 
aught  no  glimpso  of 
deed,  he  had  not  ex- 
his  books,  and  it  was 
g  by  herself  throngh 
iree  friends  got  back 
n-time ;  though  here 
It  Lord  Mnsselbargh 
le  Bedford  Hotel. 
ess  or  billiards  t" 
only  wanted  to  give 

tn  going  out  driring 

a  little  window-table 
d  again  Vincent  was 
which  his  companion 
ras  going  to  be,  ho 

for  both  Mrs.  Elli- 

would  enable  them 
ither  of  them.    Mrs. 

looked  forward  to 
10  got  married ;  and 
mnch  bigger  house, 
l;han  his  present  one 
ions  as  to  whether 
ne  subsidiary  office, 

a  party  came  into 
ig  consulted  now  as 

for  Vincent's  own 
received  %  hint,  and 

>f  those  two  friends 
>on;  for  something 
le  very  roots  of  his 


ST  AW  VAST,  ORAIO-BOTBTOVI 


HI 


being.  When  it  was  about  time  for  them  to  go  along  to  keep 
thoir  appointment  with  Mrs.  Ellison,  Vincent  was  standing  in 
the  hall  of  the  hotel,  waiting  for  Lord  Musselburgh,  who  had 
momentarily  gone  np-st&irs ;  and  he  was  idly  looking  out  upon 
the  passing  crowd.  Idly  and  absently ;  there  was  no  one  there 
to  interest  him.  Very  different  it  would  be  (he  was  saying  to 
himself)  towards  six  or  seven  o'clock,  when  perhaps  Maisrie  and 
her  grandfather  would  come  out  for  a  stroll  before  going  to  dine 
at  one  of  the  restaurants.  At  present  he  had  no  ."ort  of  concern 
with  all  those  people  who  went  driving  and  walking  past  in 
the  dull  wintry  sunshine.  It  was  a  pretty  show,  and  that  wag 
all. 

But  of  a  sudden  his  heart  stood  still,  and  his  startled  vision 
beheld  what  seemed  incredible,  and  yet  was  there,  and  actual, 
and  beyond  any  doubt  Ero  he  was  aware,  a  vehicle  had  driven 
by — a  tall  dogcart,  with  two  figures  in  front  and  one  behind ;  but 
another  glance  revealed  to  him  that  the  one  behind  was  old 
George  Bethune.  Who  could  mistake  at  any  distance  the  power- 
ful and  striking  head,  the  shaggy  eyebrows,  the  flowing  white 
hair?  And  the  two  in  front?  One  was  a  young  man,  to  Vin- 
cent unknown ;  the  other,  a  terrible  misgiving  told  him  that  was 
Maisrie,  though  they  were  now  some  way  off.  What  did  it  all 
mean )  He  had  never  heard  of  their  knowing  any  one  in  Brigh- 
ton. They  had  come  down  for  seclusion,  for  work ;  yet  here 
they  were  in  the  midst  of  a  fasbionable  crowd,  and  a  young 
man — a  stranger — was  making  ostentatious  display  of  his  ac- 
quaintance with  them.  A  thousand  wild  surmises,  the  offspring 
of  a  very  madness  of  jealousy,  sprang  into  his  brain.  Why  had 
the  old  man  so  cleavly  intimated  to  him  that  he  was  not  wanted — 
that  they  wished  to  go  to  Brighton  by  themselves  f  And  who 
was  this  person  who  was  making  such  open  parade  of  his  inti- 
macy with  them  t  Alas  1  there  was  no  answer  to  these  burning 
and  bewildering  questions,  and  he  stood  there  breathless,  alarmed, 
yet  not  daring  tu  ask  the  cause  of  his  alarm. 

Lord  Musselburgh  came  along  the  hall. 

"  Sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Vin." 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  that,"  the  young  man  said,  striving  to  con- 
ceal his  agitation.     "The  fact  is,'  I— I — don't  think  I  will  go 
driving  this  afternoon.     Will  you  make  my  excuses  to  my^ 
aunt?" 


9^3 


•TAin>  Wkn,  0BAIO*BOTROIfl 


"\Vh»t'«  the  matter!"  aaid  Moasolbargb,  regarding  him. 
*'  Yoa  look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost  or  a  creditor.  What  is  it, 
manf 

"  Never  mind — never  mind — it  is  nothing,"  Vin  said,  hastily. 
"  I  will  see  you  later  on.    Will  yoa  make  my  excuses  t — thanks  I" 

The  hall-porter  swung  the  door  open,  and  before  his  astonished 
companion  could  remonstrate  he  had  passed  out  and  down  the 
stone  steps.  He  crossed  over,  to  lose  himself  in  the  throng  on 
the  opposite  promenade.  The  dog-cart  would  be  co'iiing  by 
again ;  he  wouIJ  see  who  this  new  friend  v  as.  C>ottld  he  not 
bi'io  somewhere  f  He  fe<*.  like  a  spy,  like  a  traitor,  with  ail 
*.ho8e  dire  imaginings  surging  through  his  brain.  And  sudden 
wrath,  too ;  he  would  demand  to  know  by  what  right  any  stran- 
ger was  allowed  to  make  Maisrio  Bethuno  sq  conspicuous. 
Why,  it  was  too  public  I  it  was  a  boast,  and  hard'.y  decent 
either;  ought  net  lespcot  for  age  and  white  hair  to  hikve  placed 
the  old  mau  in  tront  inatoad  of  inviting  all  the  world  to  witness 
the  flatter'nj  of  »>  youmf  girl!  And  as  for  Maisrie — ^well,  even 
\ii  his  wildest  and  blackest  surmises  he  could  think  no  serious 
harm  of  Maisrie,  but  she  was  too  yielding,  she  was  too  generous 
with  her  favord,  she  ought  to  make  distinctions,  she  ought  not 
t^  permit  this  great  idle  crowd  to  draw  false  conclusions.  It 
was  ill  done  of  her  behind  his  back ;  had  she  so  soon  forgotten 
that  he  had  pledged  his  life  to  her  not  so  very  many  hours 
ago! 

By-and-by  he  knew  rather  than  saw  that  they  were  return- 
ing. He  was  on  the  seaward  side  of  the  road ;  there  were  a 
good  many  people  passing  to  and  fro ;  moreover,  he  was  partly 
concealed  by  an  open  fly  that  stood  close  to  the  railings.  The 
tall  dog-cart  came  swiftly  along.  An  unprejudiced  spectator 
would  have  said  that  the  young  man  who  was  driving  wa<<  rather 
a  good-looking  young  fellow,  of  the  pink-and-white  type,  with 
a  small  yellow  moustache  carefully  waxed  at  the  ends,  and  cleai 
gray  eyes.  He  woto  a  buff-colored  co"*,.  with  a  velvet  collar  of 
similar  hue ;  he  hftd  a  flower  in  his  button-hole.  Then,  again, 
his  turnout  was  faultless,  a  neatly-appointed  cavt,  a  bt  utiful, 
high-stepping  roan.     All  this  was  v  'sible  at  a  ghnce 

But  it  war.  on  Maisrie  Beihune  that  Vincent's  ga?e  was  bent, 
«>nd  as  she  drew  near  his  heart  was  smitten  at  once  with  re- 
morse and  with  gratitude.      He  had  expected,  then,  th&t  she 


*%„.,; 


Ml 

^b,  regarding   him. 
reditor.    What  is  it, 

;,"  Yin  said,  hastily, 
excuses  t — ^thanks  1" 
l>efore  his  astonished 
d  out  and  down  the 
olf  in  the  throng  on 
rould  be  co'ning  by 
¥88.     C<ould  he  not 
e  a  traitor,  with  all 
brain.     Acd  sudden 
irh4t  right  any  stran- 
I  no  sq  conspicuous. 
,  aad  hard^j  decent 
i  hair  to  huve  placed 
the  world  to  witness 
r  Maisrie — well,  even 
uld  think  no  serious 
she  was  too  generous 
;tions,  she  ought  not 
also  conclusions.     It 
iho  so  soon  forgotten 
so  very  many  hours 

at  they  were  return- 
i  road ;  there  were  a 
reover,  he  was  partly 
to  the  railings.  The 
iprejudiced  spectator 
as  driving  was  rather 
■and-white  type,  witb 
at  the  ends,  and  cleai 
'ith  a  velvet  collar  of 
Q-hole.  Then,  again, 
ted  ca.t,  a  b«  utiful. 
,t  a  glance 

cent's  gMe  was  bent, 
tten  at  once  with  re- 
ccted,  then,  that  she 


•TAVD   FAST,  OAAKhKOTBTOH  I 


298 


would  be  smirking  and  smiting  «'  1  coquetting  with  this  new 
acquaintance  f  On  the  contrary,  Maisrie  sat  there  grave  and 
silent  and  reserved ;  her  eyes  were  neither  observant  nor  con- 
scious ;  onco  or  twice  they  were  turned  towards  the  sea.  To 
Vincent  she  seemed  so  distinguished-looking,  so  reAned  aisd 
noble  and  self-possessed,  as  contrasted  with  that  fresh-complex- 
ioned  country  clown  who  had  the  monstrous  audacity  to  claim 
her  as  his  companion.  Then,  as  the  dog-cart  went  by,  he  caught 
sight  of  Greorge  Bethune.  He  was  sitting  rather  sideways,  to 
permit  of  his  addressing  an  occasional  remark  to  the  young 
gentleman  w1k>  was  driving;  no  doubt  that  was  why  Maisrie 
was  allowed  to  remain  silent  Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of 
some  one  whom  she  thought  to  be  far  away  f 

Strangely  enough,  as  soon  as  they  had  disappeared  fron\ 
view  his  doubts  and  imaginings  grew  black  again.  For  a  mc- 
mont  that  vision  of  Maisrie's  sweet  face  had  charmed  him  out 
of  himself,  but  now  these  hideous  questions  rushed  back  upon 
him,  demanding  an  answer  where  there  was  no  answer.  He 
did  not  attempt  to  reason  himself  out  of  this  paroxysm  of 
jealousy,  thac  would  have  been  useless ;  he  could  but  submit  to 
this  gnawing  torture  of  anxiety  and  suspense,  while  walking  up 
and  down,  and  waiting,  and  fearing  to  find  them  coming  within 
sight  once  more.  ^ 

They  did  not  return.  Shortly  after  four  the  dusk  began  to 
fall ;  by  half-past  five  black  night  had  enveloped  sky  and  seA, 
and  the  town  was  all  ablaze  with  golden  stars.  There  were 
hardly  any  carriages  now ;  the  people  had  betaken  themselves  to 
the  other  side  of  the  road,  to  look  in  at  the  glaring  shop- 
windows  on  their  way  home.  Vincent  found  himself  more 
alone  than  ever,  and  knew  not  what  to  do  or  which  way  to  turn. 
In  his  present  frame  of  mind  he  dared  not  go  near  the  house  in 
Brunswick  Terrace;  he  could  not  submit  to  cross-examining 
eyes.  It  would  drive  him  mad  to  talk,  while  those  rankling 
conjectures  were  busy  at  his  heart  He  wanted  to  see  Maisrie 
again ;  and  yet  dreaded  to  see  her,  lest  he  should  find  her  once 
irore  in  the  society  of  that  man.    - 

But  about  half-past  six  his  aimless  perambulation  of  the 
streets  became  circumscribed.  He  dic?  ueaicr  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  restaurants.  If  old  George  Bethune  had  brought 
his  London  habits  down  with  him,  as  many  people  did,  would 


■« 


a* 


ITAHD  VAST,  OKAIO«IIOTITOH  I 


not  he  soon  make  his  appearance,  along  with  bis  granddanghter  t 
Hero  in  East  Street,  for  example,  were  cafds,  both  French  and 
Italian,  where  they  could  have  a  foreign  dinner,  if  they  chose. 
Would  he  venture  to  address  them  f  Would  ho  confess  he  had 
seen  them  driving — in  the  hope  they  might  volunteer  information 
for  which  he  dnred  not  ask  f  Ho  could  not  tell ;  his  brain  was  in 
a  bewilderment  of  anxiety  t...  I  unreasoning  misery ;  and  this  grew 
worse,  indeed,  as  the  slow  minutes  went  by,  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  the  two  figures  for  whom  ho  was  so  eagerly  watching. 

And  then  a  sickeiing  thought  occurred  to  him.  What  if 
those  two  had  been  invited  to  dine  at  a  hotel  by  the  country 
clod — by  the  young  man  from  the  plough — by  the  rustic  dandy 
with  the  velvet  collar?  At  the  Old  Ship  most  likely — a  private 
room — a  profusion  of  flowers — plenty  of  champagne — Hodge 
Junior  gay  and  festive — cigarrettos  between  the  courses — 'Arry 
having  learned  so  much  from  the  cheap  society  journals ;  and 
will  not  Miss  Bethune  be  persuaded  to  join  t  Ah,  well,  perhaps 
after  dinner,  when  tho  liqueurs  como  to  be  handed  round  ? 
There  is  a  piano  in  tho  room ;  will  Miss  Bethune  oblige  with 
an  accompaniment  ? — here  is  a  smart  little  thing — '*  Kiss  me  on 
the  sly,  Johnnie  I" — the  latest  draw  at  tho  music-halls.  .  .  . 

Seven  by  tho  big  clock  over  tho  stationer's  shop,  and  still  no 
signs  of  them.  Clearly  they  were  not  coming  to  any  restaurant 
hereabouts.  So  at  length  he  left  East  Street,  and  went  down 
to  tha  King's  Road  and  wandered  slowly  along,  glancing  fur- 
tively into  this  or  that  hotel — especially  where  some  coffee- 
room  window  happened  to  hf>ve  been  left  with  the  blind  np. 
It  was  a  vain  quest,  and  he  was  aware  of  it ;  but  something,  he 
knew  not  what,  drew  him  on.  And  meanwhile  his  mind  was 
busy  with  pictures — of  a  private  room,  and  flowers,  and  three 
figares  seated  at  a  table.     Aeh  mh!  mein  Liebehm  vmr  die 


Braut! 


■■»;  iKl..-'y>  ■--'.,    ;  *s<^nfiT .  is*i;i:<a^^. 


At  a  quarter  to  eight  Lord  Musselburgh  was  shown  into  Mrs. 
Ellison's  drawing-room. 

"  Haven't  you  seen  anything  of  Yin  I"  she  said,  with  aston- 
ished eyes. 

"i.'o— nor  you!"        t.t«/i.i'^ -Mii     J.fp:;,v^-;.M-,vi!.5's 

"  Nothing  at  all — and  now  lie  won't,  have  time  to  dress  fol 
dinner." 


ignnddADgbtert 
l>oth  French  «nd 
ir,  if  thoy  chose. 
10  confess  he  had 
ntcer  infurmation 
;  his  brain  was  in 
ry;  and  this  grew 
there  was  no  sign 

watching. 
>  him.     What  if 
)1  by  the  country 

the  rustic  dandy 

likely — a  private 
impagne — Ilodgo 
10  courses — 'Arry 
cty  journals ;  and 

Ah,  well,  perhaps 
&  handed  round? 
,hnne  oblige  with 
[»g — "  Kiss  me  on 
iic-halls.  .  .  . 
shop,  and  still  no 

to  any  restaurant 
t,  and  went  down 
ing,  glancing  fur- 
lere  some  coffee- 
ith  the  blind  up. 

)ut  something,  he 

lile  his  mind  was 
Sowers,  ar.d  three 

LUbehtn  war  die 


shown  into  Mrs. 
said,  with  aston- 

time  to  dress  fol 


■TAv»  VAST,  aKAie-noTnoii  I  Mf 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  did  not  turn  np  for  dinner,**  Moi- 
R«lburgh  said.  "  Something  very  peculiar  happened  to  him  to- 
day— I  could  not  precisely  gather  what — but  ho  was  obviously 
upset" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  and  her  face  was  graver  than  its 
wiint.  "  Something  has  indeed  happened  to  him  to-day — though 
lio  himself  is  not  aware  of  it  as  yet" 

She  went  to  a  little  cabinet,  and  took  from  it  two  letters. 

"  I  thought  yon  ought  to  see  both  of  these,"  she  said.  "  One 
is  from  my  brother-in-law ;  I  got  it  just  a  minute  or  two 
after  you  left  The  other  is  my  answer ;  I  will  havs  it  posted 
as  soon  as  you  have  read  it" 

He  took  the  first  letter,  which  was  from  Vincent's  father, 
ami  read  it  carefully  through,  without  a  word  of  comment  Then 
be  took  the  other,  which  ran  as  follows : 

"  DiAR  Hauamd,— It  U  very  terrible,  but  I  half  i(llpe«tcd  at  muoh ;  and 
terrible  u  it  is,  there  io  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  tell  Vln  the  whole  truth, 
and  at  once.  Telegraph  for  him  to-morrow  mcming— -on  bnilnaaa  of  im- 
portance ;  if  he  wanta  to  oome  down  again  I  ahall  be  ready  with  auoh  ooa- 
•olation  aa  I  can  thinic  of.  I  fancy  from  one  or  two  things  that  thoae  people 
arc  here  in  Brighton  juat  now ;  all  the  more  reaaon  why  you  should  aummon 
tiim  home  at  once.  Poor  boy  I  it  will  l>e  a  sad  awakening.  But  he  ia  yoan^ ;  he 
will  get  over  it,  and  perhaps  be  none  the  worse  in  the  end  for  titia  crael  ex- 
perience of  the  deceit  and  wiokeness  of  the  world.  Let  me  know  how  he 
ttiies  It  Yours  attectionately,  Maoob." 

No,  Vincent  did  not  come  in  to  dinner  that  evening.  He  was 
still  walking  up  and  down  the  King's  Road,  glancing  now  and 
again,  but  with  a  sort  of  hopelessness,  at  any  little  group  of 
people  that  might  appear  at  the  hall-door  of  this  or  that  hotel ; 
and  all  the  while  there  was  a  fire  eating  at  his  heart. 


I  b^i^im-rvi 


fm 


916  STAIIO    FABT,  CRAia-ROTnOM  I 


i,.,^  .:\  --*;  ^'■■'  '■  ;■.;    .  ■-' 

1,  ; 

1 

;    ..<■  '.   ',. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

w'il'n 

PUT  10   TBI    PROOF. 

' 

r-,r  ■'t>* 

To  uy  that  Vin  Harris's  jealousy  wbm  unreasoning,  ungovern- 
able, and  the  cause  uf  cruel  and  inccsitant  torture  to  himaelf,  it 
merely  to  say  that  it  was  jealousy  ;  but  by  an  unhappy  coinci- 
dence this  was  the  very  moment  chosen  by  his  father  to  make  s 
disoloiure  which,  for  a  startled  second  or  so,  seemed  to  recall 
and  confirm  the  young  man's  wildest  suspicions.  When  Vin- 
cent, in  obedience  to  the  telegraph  summons,  arrived  at  the 
house  in  Orosvcnor  Place,  he  found  his  father  in  the  library, 
standing  with  his  back  tu  the  fire.  On  this  occasion  the  great 
capital-denouncing  capitalist  did  not  wear  the  suit  of  hodden 
gray  which,  at  dinner  in  his  own  house,  was  designed  to  show 
his  contempt  for  conventionality.  No ;  when  this  interview  was 
over  he  meant  to  lunch  at  the  Athenaeum  Club,  and  with  a  view 
to  that  solemn  rite  he  had  donned  a  black -frock-coat  which  was 
tightly  buttoned  over  his  substantial  form.  A  stiff  upstanding 
collar  and  a  satin  tie  added  to  the  rigidity  of  his  appciirance, 
while  his  manner  was,  as  usual,  pompous  and  cold.  With  a  roll 
of  paper  in  his  hand,  he  would  have  looked  as  if  he  were  going 
to  deliver  an  afternoon  lecture  at  some  public  institution. 

•<  I  have  sent  for  you,  Vin,"  he  began,  "  becanse  I  have  some- 
thing of  importance  to  say  to  you,  and  the  sooner  it  is  Raid  the 
better.  You  are  aware  that  I  have  never  sought  tu  interfere 
with  your  way  of  life.  Indeed,  I  have  seen  no  cause  to  do  so. 
Your  line  of  study  I  approve ;  your  ambitions  I  would  encour- 
age ;  and  as  for  the  amusements  and  pleasures  natural  to  your 
years,  I  can  trust  you  to  remember  your  own  self-respect  But 
in  one  dirctioa  I  confesH  I  am  disappointed.  My  chipi"  aim  in 
yocr  education  has  been  that  vop  should  »it<  and  know  the 
world,  thai  you  should  undersUud  ten,  and  by  contact  learn  to 
cope  with  them  and  hold  your  own.  Yes,  I  confew  I  am  dia- 
appointed;  for  if  I  «n  not  misinfomied — a&d  I  have  taken  the 


• 

roMi 

1        -.''     '       ', 

',:( 

.■".^■^t- 

' 

...    ^, 

(                       , 

,  ■  .»  I'f.i''. 

■TAMD    VAST,  OBAlO-KOTtTON  I 


X27 


DreABoning,  nngorern- 
torturo  to  hinuelf,  ii 
>y  an  unhappy  coincU 
!  his  father  to  make  a 
'  BO,  seemed  to  recall 
picions.  When  Vin- 
nions,  arrived  at  the 
Father  in  the  library, 
lis  occasion  the  great 
r  the  suit  of  hodden 
vas  designed  to  show 
hen  this  interview  was 
Club,  and  with  a  view 
:  -frock-coat  which  was 
I.  A  stiff  upstanding 
ity  of  his  a[)poHranc(;, 
iud  cold.  With  a  roll 
d  as  if  he  were  going 
blic  institution. 
*  because  I  have  some- 
3  sooner  it  is  Raid  the 
r  sought  lu  interfere 
en  no  cause  to  do  so. 
Lions  I  would  encour- 
isures  natural  to  your 
wn  self-respect  But 
ed.  My  chipr  aim  in 
1  see  and  know  the 
id  by  contact  learn  to 
I,  I  confess  I  am  diH- 
ftsd  I  have  taken  the 


greatest  trouble  not  to  b«  misinformed— here  are  you,  after  all 
your  travel  and  experience  of  the  world,  become  the  dupe  of  two 
common  begging-letter  impostors." 

The  young  man  looked  up  quickly,  but  ho  held  his  peace. 
Now  this  somewhat  disconcerted  Ilarland  Harris,  for  be  had 
expected  an  instont  and  indignant  protest,  which  would  have 
jimtifiod  a  little  judicious  warmth  on  his  side  in  production  of 
jtroofs.  But  Vincent  sat  calm  and  collected,  listening  with  ap- 
parent rospeot. 

"  Yes,  deeply  disappointed,"  his  father  continued  with  a  lit- 
tle more  animation ;  "  for  this  old  charlatan  who  seems  to  have 
got  hold  at  you  is  altogether  too  barefaced  and  preposter- 
ous I  Did  you  ever  ask  yourself  bow  he  lived  f  what  was  his 
business  or  profession!  where  he  got  the  money  to  go  from 
one  country  to  another!  Well,  if  you  have  not,  I  have;  I 
have  made  inquiries :  I  have  had  him  traced.  I  can  toll  you 
his  story,  and  a  very  pretty  story  it  is.  Would  you  like  to 
hear  it!" 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  concerns  me  much,"  said  Vincent  with 
composure. 

"  Oh,  it  does  not  f  said  the  gentleman  with  the  pompous  pro- 
fessional air,  upon  whom  this  indifference  seemed  to  have  a 
somewhat  irritating  effect.  <'Well,  there's  nothing  very  grand 
about  it — except  the  magnificent  and  wholesale  lying,  and  per- 
haps also  the  incredible  simplicity  of  the  people  who  allowed 
themselves  to  be  imposed  on.  Why,  in  Canada  he  called  him- 
self Lord  Bethune  I  Was  there  no  second-hand  copy  of  Burke 
anywhere  about  to  show  them  there  was  no  such  peerage  in  ex- 
istence! Lord  Betbune  haunting  newspaper-offices,  and  bor- 
rowing money  right  and  left,  because  of  his  Scoteh  name  and 
his  bogus  literary  schemes ! — his  sham  estetes,  his  sham  lineage, 
his  sham  coat-of-arms  I  Did  nobody  think  of  turning  up  a  book ! 
Stand  Fast,  Craig-Roy$ton  !    Craig-Royston  1" 

He  crossed  the  room  and  took  down  a  volume  from  one  of 
the  shelves. 

"  There,"  he  said,  putting  the  book  on  the  table—"  there  is 
Black's  'Guide  to  Scotland.'  Can  you  find  out  where  Craig- 
Royston  is  I    Turn  up  the  index." 

Mechanically  and  carelessly  Vincent  did  as  he  was  bid. 

"  No,  I  don't  s«e  it  tb«re,"  he  said. 


aas 


TTAKU   FABT,  ORAIO-ROT8TON I 


"  I  should  thiuk  not !  Nor  Balloray  either.  Can  yoa  find 
Balloray  ?  An  easy  thing  to  claim  estates  that  don't  exist,  and 
wear  armorial  bearings  of  your  own  invention !  Oadzow— oh, 
yes,  Cadzow  you  will  find;  Cadzow  undoubtedly  exists;  but 
most  people  thought  that  Cadzow  belonged  to  the  Duke  of 
Hamilton ;  or  does  Lord  Bethnne  claim  to  be  Marquis  of  Douglas 
and  Earl  of  Angus  as  well )" 

Fi  paused  ;  so  Vincent  was  bound  to  answer.  >   -  -^     •  ;^  ' 

"  I  don't  knoT  >'  that  it  concerns  me  much,"  the  young  man 
said,  repeating  his  former  phrase.  "  Even  if  all  you  say  is  true, 
what  then !  You  sent  me  out  to  see  the  world,  and  take  peo- 
ple as  I  found  them.  Well,  I  fon&d  a  good  many  liars ;  and  one 
more  or  less  doesn't  matter  mucl' ,  «*oes  it  ?" 

But  Harland  Harris  was  no  fool ;  he  instantly  divined  wherein 
lay  the  secret  of  Vincent's  real  or  assumed  indifference. 

"  Ah,  I  understand,"  said  he—"  I  uuderstand.  You  don't 
care  so  much  about  him.  Yoa  are  willing  to  let  him  go.  Yon 
think  you  can  dissociate  him  from  his  granddaughter.  He  may 
be  a  swindlr-  ■:,  but  you  fancy  she  manages  to  keep  aloof — " 

The  young  man  grew  somewhat  pale. 

"Take  care,"  said  he,  and  he  held  up  his  hand  as  if 
lie  would  enjoin  silence.  "Words  thut  are  said  cannot  be 
unsaid." 

His  father  regarded  him  for  a  Becocd,  f>,nd  then  he  endeavored 
tc  bting  a  little  more  friendliness  and  consideration  into  bis 
manrer. 

"  I  have  heard  of  this  infatuation,"  he  said.  «  And  if  you 
had  been  like  other  young  men,  Vin,  I  should  have  said  noth- 
ing. I  should  have  left  you  to  ird  out  for  yourself.  But.  yon 
see,  you  havf  the  misfortune  to  imagine  other  people  to  be  as 
straightforward  and  honorable  as  yourself ;  yon  do  not  suspect ; 
and  you  are  inclined  to  trust  your  own  judgment.  But  even  if 
this  girl  were  all  yon  think  she  is,  what  madness  it  would  be  for 
you  to  contemplate  marrying  her  I  Look  at  her  position,  and  at 
y<iurs ;  look  at  her  up-bringing  and  present  surroundings,  and  at 
yours.  Think  of  what  is  expected  of  you ;  what  chances  you 
have ;  what  an  alliance  with  a  great  family  might  do  for  you  ;n 
public  life!  Wliat  g:>od  ever  com«s  of  overleaping  social  bar- 
riers ?  of  quixotism  ?  of  self-sacrifice  for  sentiment's  sake  f  What 
does  a  marriage  between  two  people  in  difierent  spheres  mean  t 


,iSll^^t;■■!£Ji^'B?^■^■'^:.I■t^vS>TlV,'ft'^^■*(*;?ii«■^i,'^^  i 


>NI 

ther.  Can  yoa  find 
that  don't  exist,  and 
ition !  Oadzow— oh, 
oabtedly  exists;  but 
ged  to  the  Duke  of 
6  Marquis  of  Douglas 

iswer.  ■'•'  ■  •-;■!**' ■ 
icb,"  the  young  man 
if  all  you  say  is  true, 
world,  and  take  peo- 
1  many  liars ;  and  one 

mtly  divined  wherein 
indifference.  ' 
erstand.  You  don't 
to  let  him  go.  Ton 
ddaughter.  He  may 
to  keep  aloof — " 

np   his   hand   as   if 
are  said  cannot  be 

d  then  he  endeavored 
ansidcration  into  bis 

said.  "  And  if  you 
louid  have  said  noth- 
r  yourself.  But  yon 
)ther  people  to  be  as 
;  you  do  not  suspect ; 
Igment.  But  even  if 
dness  it  would  be  for 
it  her  position,  and  at 
;  surroundings,  and  at 
II ;  what  chances  you 
might  do  for  you  ?*n 
verleaping  social  bar- 
itiment's  sake  t  What 
ferent  spheres  mean  t 


STAHD   VAST,  CRAia-BOTBTOITt 


889 


What  is  the  inevitable  result  t    It  is  not  the  one  that  is  raised, 
it  is  the  other  that  is  dragged  down." 

"These  are  strange  doctrines  for  a  Socialist  and  a  Com- 
munist," Vincent  observed. 

"  They  are  the  doctrines  of  common -sense,"  his  father  re- 
torted, sharply.     "  However,  it  is  unnecessary  to  say  anything 
further  on  that  score.     You  will  abandon  all  this  nonsense  when 
you  understand  who  and  what  this  girl  is ;  and  yon  will  thank 
GoJ  you  have  had  your  eyes  opened  in  time.    And,  indeed,  if 
all  that  I  am  told  is  true — if  I  guess  aright->-if  I  piece  the  story 
properly  together — I  should  say  she  was  by  far  the  more  duiger- 
ous  of  the  two  accomplices — " 
Vincent's  lips  curled ;  he  did  not  put  his  disdain  into  worda. 
"A  painful  revelation  ?"  his  father  continued,  in  more  oracular 
fashion.     '•  Oh,  yes,  no  doubt.  -  But  occasionally  the  truth  is 
bitter  and  wholesome  at  the  same  time.    What  you  believe  about 
the  girl  is  one  thing,  what  I  know  about  her  is  another ;  indeed, 
I  can  gather  that  it  was  only  through  her  artifice  that  the  old 
man's  impostures  were  accepted,  or  tolerated,  at  all.     What  is 
he  ?    A  farceur,  a  poteur,  who  would  at  once  have  been  sent  to 
the  righ^about  but  for  the  inginue  by  his  side,  with  her  inno- 
cent eyes  and  her  sad  look.     When  the  writer  of  the  be^iog^ 
letter  calls,  his  story  might  be  inquired  into ;  but  no  I — for  hero 
is  this  interesting  young  lady,  and  the  hardest  heart  declines  to 
cross-examine  while  she  is  standing  there.    And,  of  course,  ftho 
must  po  to  the  newspaper-offices,  to  beguile  the  editor  with  her 
silent  distress,  while  her  grandfather  is  wheedling  him  out  of  a 
loan ;  or  she  accompanies  him  to  the  wine-m.jrchant,  or  the  book- 
seller, or  the  tailor,  so  that  nothing  can  be  said  about  unpaid 
accounts  while  she  is  by ;  and  of  course  there  is  a  renewal  of 
credit.    A  very  simple  and  effective  trick :  even  where  the  peo- 
ple know  the  old  man  to  be  a  rogue,  they  are  sorry  for  the  girl, 
and  they  have  a  pleasing  sense  of  virtue  in  allowing  themselves 
to  be  further  mulcted ;  ibey  Jiitla  suspect  that  she  is  by  far  the 
more  accomplished  swindler  ol  the- two— " 

Here  Vincent  laughed,  in  open  ecom,  but  the  Ltugh  was  a 
forced  one ;  and  his  eyes  were  lowering. 

"  1  am  glad  you  consider  it  a  laughing  matter,"  said  Mr.  Har- 
ris, who  found  it  less  easy  to  eorabiU)  this  contemptooos  nnbelief 
than  if  be  had  been  met  with  indigaaUoa  and  wrath.  "  Perhaps, 


|B— 


tso 


BTARD  WJL»t,  OBAIO-BOTBTOM I 


^. 


•fter  all,  the  story  is  no  revelation  f  Perhaps  yoar  compUisanee 
goes  further  than  merely  tolerating  the  old  man's  lies  t  Perhaps 
the  glamoar  the  girl  has  thrown  over  you  would  le«d  yon  to  ac- 
cept her  just  as  she  is — her  hypocrisy,  her  craft,  uid  .  Ut  Or 
perhaps  you  have  planned  out  for  yourself  a  still  more  brilliant 
future  than  any  that  had  occurred  to  your  friends  ?  Perhaps  you 
aim  at  being  the  old  man's  successor?  It  is  an  easy  way  of  get- 
ting through  life,  having  a  woman  like  that  by  your  side,  to  earn 
your  living  for  you.    The  lover  of  Manon  Leiscaut — " 

Vincent  leaped  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  aflame. 

"  Yoa  go  too  far,"  he  said,  breathing  hard.  '*  You  go  too  far. 
I  have  been  trying  to  remember  you  are  my  father ;  don't  make 
it  too  difficult  What  do  I  care  about  this  farrago  of  nonsense 
that  some  one  has  put  into  your  head,  this  trash,  this  venomous 
guessing !  It  is  nothing  to  me.  It  is  idle  air.  I  know  other- 
wise. But  when  it  comes  to  insult — well,  it  is  alF  an  insult,  but 
something  must  be  forgiven  to  ignorance ;  the  people  who  have 
supplied  you  with  this  guesswork  rubbish  are  probably  as  igno- 
rant as  yourself  about  those  two.  Only,  no  more  insults,  if  yon 
please  I  I  am  your  son,  but — ^but  there  are  limits  to  what  yoa 
ask  me  to  hear  in  patience.  You  talk  of  my  madness  and  in- 
fatuation :  it  is  your  madness,  your  infatuation.  What  can  yoa 
say  of  your  own  knowledge  of  that  old  man  and  his  grand- 
daughter! Why,  nothing.  You  have  never  spoken  to  them, 
never  seen  them.  And  yet,  without  an  atom  of  inquiry,  with- 
out an  atom  of  proof,  you  go  and  accept  all  this  tissue  of  guess- 
work, this  rubbish,  this  trash,  as  if  it  were  gospel ;  and  yon  ex- 
pect me  to  give  it  a  patient  hearing!    It  is  too  contemptible !" 

*'  Yes,  but  unfortunately,"  said  Mr.  Harris  with  great  calmness, 
for  now  he  felt  he  bad  the  advantage  on  his  side,  "  you  are 
mistaken  in  supposing  that  I  have  made  no  inquiry  and  have 
received  no  proof.  The  inquiry  has  been  made  for  me  with 
great  skill  and  patience  during  the  past  month,  and  the  proofii 
seem  to  me  sufficient    Proofs !  yon  yourself  shall  furnish  one." 

This  was  a  kind  of  challenge,  and  the  young  man  accepted  it 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  adversary. 

-What,  then  f 

"When  yon  find,"  said  his  father  with  deliberation,  "two 
people  wandering  from  town  to  town  without  any  visible  means 
of  sabaistence,  yoa  natoially  wonder  how  they  maiiaga  to  Uta 


ITONI 

laps  yoar  compUiaanee 
Id  man's  lies  t  P«rh&pa 
I  woald  le<id  you  to  ac- 
ber  craft,  and  .  >i  f  Or 
If  a  still  more  brilliant 

friends!    Perhaps  you 
[t  is  an  easy  way  of  get- 
lat  by  your  side,  to  earn 
n  Lescaut — " 
lame. 

lard.  '*  You  go  too  far. 
my  father ;  don't  make 
bis  farrago  of  nonsense 
lis  trash,  this  Tenomous 
idle  air.  I  know  other- 
II,  it  is  all^  an  insult,  bat 
e  ;  the  people  who  have 
ih  are  probably  as  igno- 
,  no  more  insults,  if  yoa 

are  limits  to  what  yoa 
of  my  madness  and  in- 
iuation.  What  can  yoa 
Id  man  and  his  grand- 
never  spoken  to  them, 
I  atom  of  inquiry,  with- 
t  all  this  tissue  of  guess- 
ere  gospel ;  and  yon  ex- 
It  is  too  contemptible  1" 
rris  with  great  calmness, 

on  his  side,  "  you  are 
le  no  inquiry  and  have 
teen  made  for  me  with 
t  month,  and  the  proofi 
irself  shall  f  umiah  one." 
I  young  man  accepted  it 


with  deliberation,  "two 
ithout  Miy  vinble  means 
ow  they  manago  to  liv*. 


BTAHO   VAST,  OBAIO-BOrSTOir  I 


981 


Very  well.  Bnt  now,  if  you  discover  they  have  a  pretty  knack 
of  falling  in  with  this  or  that  rich  young  gentleman,  and  allow- 
ing him  to  pay  for  them  on  all  occasions,  isn't  the  mystery 
partly  solved  t  I  am  informed  that  these  two  people  and  your- 
self have  been  in  the  habit  for  a  considerable  time  back  of 
dining  together  in  the  evening ;  indeed,  I  have  the  name  of  the 
restaurant.  Now  I  wish  to  ask  you  this  question  point-blank : 
Is  it  not  the  fact  that  in  every  case  you  have  paid  t" 

Vincent  did  not  answer ;  he  was  not  thinking  of  himself  at  all, 
nor  yet  of  the  direct  question  that  had  been  put  to  him.  A 
terrible  wave  of  bewilderment  had  passed  over  him ;  his  heart 
seemed  to  have  within  it  but  one  sudden  cry, "  Maisrie,  Maisrie, 
why  were  you  driving  with  that  stranger!"  and  all  the  world 
grew  black  with  a  horror  of  doubt  and  despair.  He  thought  of 
the  young  man  driving  along  the  King's  Road  in  Brighton. 
Was  there  another  paying  for  those  two  now !  Had  they  an- 
other friend  now  to  accompany  them  every  evening!  And 
Maisrie !  But  all  this  wild  agony  lasted  only  a  moment  He 
cast  this  palsy  of  the  braiu  behind  him.  His  better  self  rose 
confident  and  triumphant,  though  there  was  still  a  strange  look 
left  in  his  eyes. 

"  Paid  I"  he  said  with  a  kind  of  scornful  impatience.  «  Who 
paid !  Ob,  I  did  mostly.  What  about  that !  That  is  nathing — 
a  few  shillings.  I  found  it  pleasanter  not  to  have  to  settle  bills 
before  a  young  lady,  and,  of  course,  she  did  not  know  who 
paid.     I  made  an  arrangement." 

"  An  arrangement  by  which  yon  gave  those  people  thei;  din- 
ner for  nothing  for  months  and  months  I" 

"  And  what  then !" 

For  Vincent  had  entirely  recovered  his  self-command ;  he  af- 
fected to  regard  this  story  that  had  been  told  him  as  quite 
unworthy  of  serious  attention.  It  was  his  father  who  was  grow- 
ing exasperated. 

"  Have  you  taken  leave  of  your  senses  f  Mr.  Harris  demand- 
ed. "  Is  it  nothing  that  yon  yourself  have  shown  this  old  man 
to  be  a  panper,  getting  his  dinner  on  charity  ev^ery  evening! 
And  what  better  was  the  girl!  She  must  have  known  I  Do 
you  imagine  she  was  not  aware  of  his  receiving  money  for  bo- 
gus books  that  he  never  meant  to  publish,  and  of  his  inveigling 
soft-headed  Scotchmen^— I  suppose  there  must  be  one  here  and 


iiiww!i'w»i^,'.im.]''p 


932 


aTAMO  rMt,  OBAIO-ROTSTOiri 


there — ^into  giving  him  a  loan  becauM  of  his  sham  patriotism ! 
And  these  are  the  people  you  have  chosen  \o  consor<>  with  all 
this  time ;  and  this  is  the  girl  you  would  bring  into  voar  family 
— you  would  introduce  to  your  friends  as  your  wife  1  But  you 
cannot  be  so  mad  I  You  may  pretend  indifference,  you  cannot 
be  indifferent.  You  may  consider  it  fine  and  heroic  to  disbelieve 
the  clearest  evidence ;  the  world,  on  the  other  bend,  is  apt  to 
say  that  it  is  only  a  fool  and  an  idiot  who  keeps  his  eyes  shut 
and  walks  into  a  trap  blindfolded.  And — and  I  do  think,  when 
you  begin  to  reflect,  that  your  own  common-sense  will  come  to 
your  aid."  < 

He  turned  to  the  mantelpiece,  and  took  from  it  some  papers. 

"  I  have  given  you,"  he  continued, "  the  sum  and  substance  of 
the  inquiries  I  have  made,  in  this  country  and  in  America.  I 
can  show  you  here  still  further  details ;  but  before  allowing  yon 
to  examine  these  communications,  I  must  exact  a  promise  that 
they  shall  be  treated  as  in  strictest  confidence." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Vincent, "  I  will  not  trouble  you.  I  can 
guess  at  the  kind  of  creature  who  would  accept  such  a  task,  and 
at  his  interpretation  of  any  facts  that  might  come  across  him." 

Then  he  rose. 

"  And  is  this  the  important  business  on  which  you  sent  for 
me  f  hd  asked,  but  quite  civilly. 

"You  do  not  think  it  is  important t"  the  other  demanded. 
*'  But  at  least  you  have  been  warned.  You  have  been  advised 
to  keep  your  eyes  open.  You  have  been  shown  what  kind  of 
people  they  are  who  have  got  hold  of  you ;  it  is  for  you  yourself 
to  say  whether  you  will  be  any  longer  their  dnpe." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  young  man ;  and  he  rose  and  took  up 
his  hat  and  cane.  "  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  presume  you  have  come 
to  an  end  of  your  inquiries  f  Because,  if  not,  I  would  advise 
your  spy — your  detective,  or  whatever  he  is — not  to  come  prowl- 
ing to  any  restaurant  or  keyhole  when  I  am  fJone  with  my 
friends,  or  he  might  find  things  become  very  nnpleasant  for  him. 
Gk>od-moming  t" 

So  this  was  the  end  of  the  interview ;  and  H&rland  Harris 
shortly  thereafter  made  off  for  the  Athennum  Club,  well  satis- 
fled  that  his  narrative  had  produced  a  far  deeper  impression 
than  the  young  man  would  acknowledge.  And  in  tonth  it  had. 
When  Vincent  left  the  house,  cad  walked  away  to  the  soUtarjr 


sham  patriotiamt 
o  conaort  with  all 
g  into  your  family 
ur  wife  1  Bat  you 
erence,  you  cannot 
leroic  to  disbelieve 
er  bend,  is  apt  to 
eeps  bis  eyes  sbut 
d  I  do  tbink,  wben 
sense  will  come  to 

»m  it  some  papers, 
m  and  substance  of 
,nd  in  America.  I 
>efoTe  allowing  yon 
cact  a  promise  tbat 
J." 

rouble  you.    I  can 

)pt  such  a  task,  and 

come  across  bim." 

wbicb  you  sent  for 

e  otb^r  demanded. 

bave  been  advised 

lown  wbat  kind  of 

is  for  yon  yourself 

npe." 

rose  and  took  np 
ime  yon  have  come 
aot,  I  would  «dvise 
-not  to  come  prowt- 
un  Alone  with  my 
unpleasant  for  biro. 

ad  H&rliuid  Harris 
im  Club,  well  satis- 
deeper  impression 
nd  in  to^tb  it  bad. 
iray  to  the  aolitary 


STAWO   WAVtt  ORAIO-IIOTBTONI 


little  rooms  in  Mayfair,  his  face  was  no  longer  scomf nl ;  it  was 
eerioas  and  troubled ;  for  there  was  much  for  him  to  ponder 
over.  Not  about  Maisrio.  He  pat  Maisrie  aside.  For  one  thing, 
he  was  a  little  vexed  and  angry  with  her  at  the  moment — quite 
unreasonably,  as  he  strove  to  convince  himself ;  nevertheless,  be 
would  rather  not  think  «boat  her  just  then ;  and,  indeed,  there 
was  no  occasion,  for  the  ide&  that  she  could  be  the  participator 
in  any  fraud  or  series  of  frauds  was  simply  not  a  thinkable 
thing.  He  knew  better  than  that;  and  was  content.  Maisrie 
driving  with  a  stranger — perhaps  that  was  not  so  well  done  of 
her;  but  Maisrie  as  a  skilful  and  accomplished  professional 
swindler? — then  yoa  might  expect  to  see  the  stars  fall  from 
their  places  in  the  midnight  sky. 

But  OS  regards  the  old  man, tbat  was  very  different;  -  .d  he 
could  not  deny  that  there  were  certain  points  in  the  story  jast 
told  him  which  were  corroborated  by  his  own  knowledge.  He 
knew,  for  example,  that  George  Bethune  bad  got  money  for  one 
book  which,  as  circumstances  would  have  it,  was  not  produced 
and  published ;  he  knew  tbat  those  dinners  at  the  restaurant 
were  paid  for  by  himself ;  be  knew  that  he  had  beard  Mr.  Be- 
thune speak  of  Cadsow  as  belonging  to  his  family  ;  and  be  had 
to  confess  tbat  be  could  not  find  Craig-Royston  in  the  index  of 
his  father's  guide-book.  And  yet  be  could  not  give  up  this  mag- 
nificent, this  heroic  old  man  all  at  once.  He  could  not  believe 
him  to  be  a  mean  and  crafty  trickster.  Surely  bis  lo\t.  for  Scot- 
land was  sincere.  Surely  his  passionate  admiration  of  the  old 
Scotch  ballads  was  genuine  enough.  Surely  it  was  not  to  impose 
on  any  one  that  old  George  Bethune  sang  aloud  the  songs  of  bis 
youth  as  be  walked  through  the  crowded  streets  of  London. 
There  was  a  grandeur  in  bis  very  presence,  a  dignity  in  bis  de- 
meanor, that  was  far  from  the  artful  complaisance  of  a  schemer. 
Then  his  undaunted  courage,  bis  proud  spirit,  and,  tbove  all,  the 
tender  and  affectionate  guardianship  he  bestowed  on  his  grand- 
daughter ;  Vincent  could  not  forget  all  these  things.  No,  nor 
could  he  forget  how  he  had  enjoyed  George  Bethune's  society 
on  thene  many  and  pleasant  evenings ;  and  bow  be  bad  learned 
more  and  more  to  respect  him,  his  unflinching  fortitude,  his  gener- 
ous enthusiasms,  and  even  at  times  his  innocent  vanity.  He  had 
had  a  hard  life,  this  old  man ;  and  yet  he  bore  no  enmity.  He  had 
had  many  trials  and  misfortunes,  many  hopes  disappointed ;  yet 


884 


HTXIID   FAIT,  ORAIO-ROTSTOVI 


w 


his  temper  wu  not  soared.  Bat  the  eonelamre  proof,  after  all, 
was  the  character  of  Maiarie  herself.  Hor  noble  sweetness,  her 
refinement,  her  sympathy,  her  quick  gratitade  for  tt  3  smallest  of 
kindnesses ;  could  such  a  beaatif al  human  flowei  have  grown  np 
under  the  fostering  care  of  an  nnscrapaloos  vagabond  and 
knave  t 

When  he  got  to  his  rooms,  the  first  thing  he  did — bat  with  no 
very  definite  purpose — was  to  take  np  his  copy  of  Black's 
"  Guide  to  Scotland."  It  was  a  recent  edition — he  had  got  it  so 
that  he  might  trace  out  that  long  wandering  of  which  old  Gsorge 
Bethnne  and  Maisrie  had  spoken  so  often — and  mechanically  be 
turned  to  the  index  with  which  he  had  been  confronted  in  his 
father's  library  ;  and  mechanically  he  glanced  at  the  successive 
columns.  But  whst  trw  this  t  Why,  here  wo*  Craig-Royston ! 
Uis  eyes  were  not  deceiving  him ;  for  he  at  once  referred  to  the 
page  indicated,  and  found  Craig-Royston  described  as  a  district 
in  the  neighb>rhood  of  Loch  Lomond— though,  to  be  sure,  he 
conld  discover  no  tracd  of  it  on  the  map.  So  he  had  jumped  to 
conclusions  all  icc  prematurely.  He  had  allowed  that  unknown 
enemy  of  his — that  dark  and  malignant  creature  in  the  back- 
ground— too  facile  a  triumph  t  He  began  to  be  ashamed  of 
himself.  "  Stand  fast,  Craig-Royston !"  had  not  been  his  motto, 
as  it  was  that  of  the  proud  old  man  whom  he  had  izjnrid  by 
listening  to  those  childish  tales. 

He  returned  to  the  index,  and  sought  for  Baiioiay.  Well, 
there  was  no  Balloray ;  but  then  Balloray  was  a  private  house; 
and  private  houses,  unless  of  historical  interest,  are  seldom 
mentioned  in  guide-books.  And  then  again  he  bethought  him ; 
Why,  the  old  ballad  I  the  "bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Balloray." 
Surely  that  was  sufficient  evidence  of  there  being  such  a  place  I 
He  could  almost  hear  George  Bethnne's  voice  as  he  recalled  tue 
opening  lines : 

"  There  were  twa  slsteis  lived  in  a  bower — 
Balloray,  0  Balloray  I 
The  youngest  o*  them,  0  she  waa  a  flowar  t 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dama  o'  Balloray. 


'  There  came  a  aqnire  frae  out  the  ^ 

Balloray,  0  Balloray  I 
He  to'ed  tham  baith,  bat  the  yoongest  beal^ 
By  the  boni^  Bilt4ania  o'  Balloray.** 


mmm 


loiri 

ilanva  proof,  after  all, 
ir  noble  sweetneae,  hei 
ide  for  tt  3  •malieet  of 
I  flowei  h»vo  grown  up 
paloas  vagabond  and 

ig  he  did — bat  with  no 
hia  copy  of  Black's 
ition — ^he  had  got  it  so 
ag  of  which  old  Gsorge 
t — and  mechanically  he 
>een  confronted  in  bis 
raced  at  the  successive 
we  WM  Craig-Royston ! 
at  once  referred  to  the 
described  as  a  district 
-though,  to  be  sure,  he 
.    So  he  had  jumped  to 
1  allowed  that  unknown 
i  creature  in  the  back- 
igan  to  be  ashamed  of 
had  not  been  his  motto, 
lom  he  had  isjunid  by 

lit  for  Baiioiay.  Well, 
ay  was  a  priiate  house; 
»1  interest,  are  seldom 
gain  he  bethought  him ; 
lUl-dams  o'  Balloray." 
lere  being  such  a  placet 
;  Toioe  as  he  recalled  tue 


a  bower— 

«  a  flower  I 
tlloray. 

Mwest— ' 

Hmgett  bei^ 
alkMMT." 


•TAKB   FAiT,  OBAIChBOTITOVI 


S8S 


Why,  what  a  fool  he  had  been,  to  be  disconcerted  by  an  index 
— and  that  the  index  of  some  old  and  obsolete  edition  I  He 
prosecuted  his  researches.  He  turned  to  Cadsow.  Yes,  here 
was  Cadzow — Cadzow  Castle  and  Cadzow  Forest ;  and  undoubt- 
edly these  were  the  property  of  the  Duke  of  Hamilton.  But 
might  there  not  be  some  other  property  of  the  same  name,  as  a 
sort  of  appanage  of  Balloray  t  It  was  no  unusual  tVing  in 
Scotland  or  anywhere  elae  for  two  places  to  have  the  same  name ; 
and  in  this. instance  it  was  the  more  important  one — the  ducal 
one — that  would  naturally  figure  in  the  guide-book.  He  seemed 
to  see  old  Qeorge  Bethune  regarding  him,  with  something  of  a 
haughty  look  on  his  face,  as  though  he  would  say,  "  Of  what 
next  will  you  accuse  me  t" 

Well,  all  this  was  very  fine  and  brave ;  it  was  a  manful  strug^ 
gling  with  certain  phantoms,  and  he  was  trying  to  cheat  himself 
into  an  elation  of  confidence.  But  ever  and  anon  there  came  to 
him  a  consciousness  of  something  behind — something  inexpli- 
cable— and  his  thoughts  would  wander  away  back  to  Brighton. 
Fugitive  lines  of  that  terrible  poem  of  Heine's  would  come  into 
his  braic — "  Zu  Tafel  sassen  froh  die  G&st'  ....  und  wie  ich 
nach  dem  Brautpaar  schaut'  .  .  .  .  O  weh  1  moin  Liobchen  war 
die  Braut."  He  began  to  imagine  for  himself  what  those  three 
had  been  doing  this  morning.  This  weather  being  so  fine,  no 
doubt  Mr.  Bethune  had  laid  aside  his  books  for  the  time  being, 
and  he  and  Maisrie  would  be  ready  to  go  out  by  half-past  ten  or 
eleven.  Would  their  new  friend  call  for  them,  or  would  there 
be  some  place  of  appointment  down  in  the  King's  Boadf  He 
could  see  them  walk  out  the  West  Pier.  The  old  man  with 
the  firm-set  figure  and  the  flowing  white  locks  would  probably  be 
thinking  but  little  of  what  was  going  on  around  him,  as  likely 
as  not  he  would  be  singing  gayly  to  himself  about  the  Pier  o' 
Leith  and  Berwick  Law,  and  "  leaving  thee,  my  bonnie  Mary." 
Yes,  and  so  far  those  two  others  would  be  left  to  themselves ; 
they  could  talk  as  they  chose— eyes  meeting  eyes.  And  what 
had  the  bumpkin  squire  to  sayf  Oh,  horses  and  hounds — tho 
county  ball»--the  famous  bin  6f  port  to  be  opened  flft  Christ- 
mas. Chriatmas  was  coming  near  now.  Might  there  hot  be  an 
invitation  to  the  two  world-wanderers  to  come  and  be  hospitably 
entertuned  at  the  big  eountry-houae  and  introduced  to  friends  t 
And  Maiarie— -would  she  think  twice  t — would  she  refuse  t  The 


-  -»  ■>««W»l»F^.T. 


^ 


288 


BTAHD   riST,  OSAIChBOTSTOIIt 


old  insn  would  consent  to  anything  that  promised  him  present 
comfort  j  he  accepted  favors  with  a  sort  of  royal  conplacency ; 
it  would  matter  little  to  him  so  long  as  the  fire  wrs  bright,  the 
wine  good,  the  company  cheerful,  and  himsel*  albwvd  a  ft'^c 
latitude  ^f  c^-ation.     But  Maisrio  ? — 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  now.  That  provions  afternoon  at 
Brighton  had  been  a  time  of  misery,  and  long  inUi  the  night  ^lO 
had  been  k  <ot  awake  by  dull  and  broodiucr  spe  'ilatior.  <"u;  lu  b^ 
bitte?  '  \\t-tt  Toach.  A^L  the  same  he  {<..t  tiim^elf  irresistibly 
>'*■>*  t?  it  '\  again.  '.Vhatccr  vas  happening  down  there  by 
;t;i.^.<;,i'^?°l!«  ht.  wanted  to  know;  his  imaginings  were  a  more 
n'v^.'i  ':  >;re  than  anything  his  eyes  could  tell  him.  And  per- 
jL.^m,  ho  a'i  )  to  himself,  with  an  ominous  darkening  of  the 
brows,  p<  fit  ,^yJ  'Sere  might  be  a  chance  of  his  meeting  this  rival 
of  his  face  to  face,  the  better  to  measure  him,  and  learn  what 
both  of  them  had  to  expect. 

He  caught  the  4:30  express  at  Victoria,  and  got  whirled  away 
down.  But  he  did  not  go  to  Mrs.  Ellison's  house,  or  yet  to  the  Bed- 
ford Hotel,  at  which  his  friend  Musselburgh  was  staying ;  he  went 
to  the  Bristol,  so  as  to  keep  himself  a  little  out  of  observation.  He 
was  luckjr  enough  to  get  a  bedroom,  and  that  was  all  he  required. 
He  did  not  even  wait  to  look  at  it ;  he  left  the  hotel,  and  went 
wandering  down  the  Marine  Parade,  which  was  now  a  mass  of 
darkness  lit  np  by  innumerable  points  of  yellow  fire. 

Whither  away  then  f  If  only  he  knew  the  street  in  which 
they  had  taken  lodgings  he  could  soon  find  out  their  daily  hab- 
its, himself  remaining  unseen ;  bnt  he  had  nothing  beyond  a 
vague  recollection  that  they  had  spoken  of  some  hill  behind 
the  town.  However,  Brighton,  though  now  grown  a  big  place, 
has  a  few  leading  thut lugfafares  in  which  everybody  who  is  a 
visitor  is  pretty  sure  to  bv^  encountered  sooner  or  later ;  and  in 
this  particulw  instwce  it  was  a  good  deal  sooner  than  he  could 
have  dreamed  of. 

He  was  walking  along  >.he  seaward  side  of  the  Parade,  with 
bnt  a  casual  glance  now  and  again  at  this  or  that  passer-by, 
when  suddenly,  on  the  other  side,  at  the  comer  of  German 
Place,  thfte  figures  came  nnder  the  glare  of  a  gas-lamp,  and 
these  ho  instantly  recogniK(>d.  Occasionally  as  they  went  on 
they  became  indistingnishablc  in  the  dusk ;  then  again  a  gas- 
lamp  weald  bring  them  into  vivid  relief — the  tall  and  slim 


MHB 


roini8e<l  him  present 
'  royal  conplacency ; 
e  fire  wrs  bright,  the 
nsel*  ail)«tid  a  ti'..z 

>rovions  afternoon  at 
ng  inUi  the  night  lio 
ipe  'ilatior  "-j;  lu  b^ 
)  liim^elf  irresistibly 
ming  down  there  by 
finings  were  a  more 
tell  him.  And  per- 
ns darkening  of  the 
bis  meeting  this  rival 
him,  and  learn  what 

nd  got  whirled  away 
i8e,oryettotheBed- 
vaa  staying ;  he  went 
1  of  observation.  He 
;  was  all  he  required. 

the  hotel,  and  went 
was  now  a  mass  of 
How  fire, 
the  street  in  which 

out  their  daily  hab- 
t  nothing  beyond  a 
>f  some  hill  behind 

grown  a  big  place, 
Bverybody  who  is  a 
ler  or  later ;  and  in 
>oner  than  he  could 

>f  the  Parade,  with 
I  or  that  passer-by, 
comer  of  Qennan 
of  a  gas-lamp,  and 
f  as  they  went  on 
;  then  again  a  gas* 
-the  tall  and  slim 


pilPippiiiiipiliiiiiim 


STAND  rxar,  ORjiio-noTaroii  i 


jng  girl,  the  square-set  old  .aan  v.:th  tho  picturesque  white 
',  the  youug  <jeni.,.man  ^\th  the  yellow    over-coat.     They 
'0  talkr.g  together  an  \  Tvalking  quickly,  for  the  night  was  cold. 
'  Yf>a,    said  Vincent   to   himself,  in   the        «rncsa  of  his 
'   irt,"I  am  di-placed  and  suporsflded  no.v.     Without  much 
■liculty    ,ther.     Quickly  done.     And  no  ('oubt  be  is  taking 
.em  along  to  some  restautant      He  will  hear  about  the  rocks 
Hnd  dales  of  Scot'ind       oat  the  .>J!ad8  and  songs,     rorhaiw 
he  has  8u.>scriUd  for  the  new  book.     Then  they  wiJ]  aak  him 
to  go  homo  with  them  again,  and  M,  isrio  will  take  out  her 
violm ;  and  perhaps— perhaps  she  will  sing '  C'^toit  uno  frdgato 
mon  joh  coBur  de  rose.'     Perhaps  she  will  sing  that  for  him 
or  any  other  of  the  Canadian  songs  except  the  one— but  surely 
—surely,  Maisrie  will  not  sing '  La  CUire  Fontaine'  f" 

And  then  again  he  said  to  himself,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
those  three,  but  most  of  all  on  the  young  girl  who  'wrlked  with 
80  light  and  joyous  a  step,  "Ah,  I  have  suffered  to-day,  you  do 
not  know  how  much,  in  repelling  insinuations  brought  against 
you, and  m  silencing  my  own  doubts;  but  what  do  yon  care! 
One  restaurant  is  as  good .«  another,  one  friex-  ^  is  as  good  as  an- 
other. Let  the  absent  expect  to  be  forgotten  when  it  is  a  woman 
who  IS  asked  to  remember.  •  La  Claire  Fontaine '  I  Why  not 
'  La  Claire  Fontaine '  for  him  as  well  as  any  one  else  ?  All  that 
past  companionship  has  gone  by;  here  is  a  new  friend  to  be 
welcomed  with  smiles  and  graces.  And  as  for  the  old  man, 
what  does  it  matter  to  him  so  long  as  there  is  some  one  to  set- 
tie  up  the  tavern  score  ?" 

Aurl^*^'^'  "»^°«™  o'  jealousy  overmastered  him  altogether. 
When  fiey  got  down  to  East  Street  they  did  not  at  once  go  into 
the  restaurant, for  it  was  yet  somewhat  early;  they  began  to 
examine  the  windows  of  ono  or  two  of  the  shops,  and  the  trinkete 
displayed  there.  And  again  and  again  Vincent  was  on  the  point 
of  going  np  to  his  enemy  and  saying, "  Well,  why  don't  you  buy 
her  something?  If  you  haven't  got  money  I'll  lend  it  to  you  r' 
Purely  thia  would  suffice  to  jorovokf  a  quarrel  f— to  be  settled  next 
mommg  out  on  the  Downs,  and  not  by  any  pistol  accident  or  trick 
of  foil,  but  by  a  fair  stend-up  trial  of  strength,  those  two  facing 
each  other,  with  clenched  fisto  and  set  month.  The  young  man  in 
the  coverKJoat  was  looking  at  some  Austrian  garnets;  Uttie  did 
ho  know  what  wild  beast  was  within  springing  distance  of  him. 


1^11...  ,..U,>.jpi|(l|ijllll»Ui!I.L|Lpil,iPiJ.» 


PIPT 


r 


IS.. 


I 


' 


S88 


STAITD    rXST,  CRAlO-BOTSTOKt 


At  longth  tlioy  left  the  shops,  and  leisnrcly  strolled  along  tc 
the  Italian  restaurant,  and  entered.  Vincent  gave  tloin  time  lo 
get  settled,  and  then  followed.  lie  did  not  wial.  to  interfere 
with  thern — he  merely  wished  to  see.  And  when  ho  went  up- 
stairs to  the  room  on  the  first  floor  it  wad  with  no  abashment; 
ho  did  not  slink— h*"  walked  resolutely  to  a  small  unoccupied 
table  at  the  farther  end.  But  ho  was  some  way  froni  them; 
perchance  ho  might  bo  able  to  observe  without  being  noticed. 
The  waiter  came  to  him.  *•  Anything  I"  was  his  order.  Gall 
and  wormwood  there  were  likely  to  be  in  any  dish  that  might 
bo  brought.  Wine  ?— Oh,  yes,  a  flask  of  Chianti— why  not  a 
flask  of  Chianti? — one  might  fill  a  glass  and  send  a  message  to 
a  faithless  friend,  a  message  to  rcoall  her  to  herself  for  a  mo- 
n'cnt.  You  who  arc  sitting  there,  will  you  not  drink  to  the 
health  of  all  false  lovers!— you  who  are  sitting  there  in  such 
joyful  company — "  toi  qui  as  le  coeur  gai  1" 

He  could  see  them  well  enough.  There  was  champagne  on 
the  table ;  that  was  not  of  George  Bethune's  ordering ;  the  booby 
from  the  swedes  and  mangold  was  clearly  playing  the  part  of 
ho&t.  And  what  was  she  saying  to  him  in  return  f  What  form 
did  her  thanVs  take  ?  "  Je  ne  puis  rien  donner— Qu'  mon  coear 
en  mariage ;"  that  was  easily  said,  and  might  wean  no  more  than 
it  meant  in  the  bygone  days.  Women  could  so  readily  pour  out 
to  any  chnnce  new-comer  their  petit  vin  blane  of  gratitude. 

But  suddenly  he  became  aware  of  some  movement  at  tlio 
table  along  there,  and  quickly  ho  lowered  his  look.     Then  he 

tnew he  did  not  see — that  some  one  was  coming  down  the 

long  room.  Ho  breathed  hard,  with  a  sort  of  fear,  and  it  was 
not  the  fear  of  any  mnn.  He  wished  he  had  not  come  into  this 
place ;  could  he  not  even  now  escape  1 

«  Vincent !" 

'I'he  voice  thrilled  through  him ;  he  looked  up,  and  there  was 
Maisrie  Bethune  regarding  him — regarding  him  with  those  eyes 
BO  beautiful,  so  shining,  so  tender,  and  reproachful  1 

"  Did  you  not  see  us ?    Why  should  you  avoid  us!" 

The  tone  in  which  she  spoke  pierced  his  very  heart ;  but  still 
but  still  there  was  that  stranger  at  the  table  yonder. 

"  I  thought  you  were  otherwise  engaged,"  said  he.  "  I  did 
not  wish  to  intrude." 

"  You  are  unkind."  ■  ..  .-„      -,.■,. 


i«i  «■  III  i&imrtll  I .  I»<i  linli  iH«i  HI,* 


ily  itroUed  along  to 
t  gn'/e  tbein  timo  lo 
ot  wisl.  to>  interfere 
\  when  ho  went  up- 
with  no  abashment; 
a  small  unoccupied 
ne  way  froni  them; 
ihout  being  noticed, 
vas  Ilia  order.  Gall 
Any  dish  that  might 
Chianti--why  not  a 
d  send  a  message  to 
to  herself  for  a  mo- 
u  not  drink  to  the 
iitting  there  in  such 

)  was  champagne  on 
ordering ;  the  booby 
playing  the  part  of 
return  I     What  form 
nncr — Qu'  mon  coeur 
t  i.ican  no  more  than 
Id  so  readily  pour  out 
ne  of  gratitude. 
)c  movement  at  tlie 
his  look.    Then  he 
Bti  coming  down  the 
■t  of  fear,  and  it  was 
»d  not  come  into  this 


id  up,  and  there  was 
hira  with  those  eyes 

oachful ! 
avoid  us !" 
very  heart ; 

iblo  yonder. 

d,"  said  he. 


•tAVD   WAKf,  OBAIO-BOTfTOM  I 


•w 


Then  tbe  itood  for  •  moment  nnccrUin.  It  wu  •  brave  thing 
for  thu  girl  to  walk  down  m  long  room  to  addrew  a  yoong  man, 
knowing  that  more  than  one  pair  of  ejea  would  be  turned  tow- 
ards her;  and  here  the  was  standing  without  any  visible  aim  or 
errand. 

"  Won't  joa  come  to  oar  table,  Vincent  T'  she  asked,  hesita- 
tingly. 

And  then  he  noticed  her  embarrassment,  and  he  felt  he  wonid 
b<!  a  craven  hound  not  to  come  to  her  rescue,  whatever  the  qnar* 
rel  between  them. 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly,  if  I  may,"  but  with  no  sort  of  gladness  in 
his  consent,  and  then  ho  bade  tho  waiter  fetch  the  things  along. 

Hho  led  the  way.  When  ho  reached  the  table  he  shook  hands 
with  George  Bethuno,  who  appeared  more  surprised  than  pleased. 
Then  Maisrie  made  a  faint  little  kind  of  introduction  as  be- 
tween the  younp  men.  Vincent,  who  had  not  caught  the  other's 
name,  bowed  stiffly,  and  took  tho  seat  that  had  been  brought 
for  him.  And  then,  seeing  that  it  was  on  Maisrie  that  all  the 
responsibility  of  this  new  arrangement  had  fallen,  he  forced 
himself  to  talk,  making  apologies  for  disturbing  them,  explain- 
ing how  it  was  ho  came  to  be  in  Brighton,  and  begging  Maisrie 
not  to  take  any  trouble  about  him — it  was  only  too  kind  of  her 
to  allow  him  to  join  them. 

And  yet  it  was  very  awkward,  despite  Maisrie's  assiduous  lit- 
tle attentions  and  her  timid  efforts  to  propitiate  everybody. 
The  fresh-complezioned  young  gentleman  stared  at  the  intruder, 
grow  snllon  when  he  observed  Maisrie's  small  kindnesses,  and 
eventually  turned  to  resume  his  conversation  with  Mr.  Bethune, 
which  had  been  interrupted.  Vincent,  who  had  been  ready  on 
the  Bmallest  provocation  to  break  forth  in  flame  and  fury,  be- 
came contemptuous;  he  would  take  no  heed  of  this  person; 
nay,  he  would  make  use  of  the  opportunity  to  show  to  any  one 
who  might  chooae  to  listen  on  what  terms  he  was  with  Maisrie. 

"  Where  are  yon  living,  Maisrie  t"  said  he,  and  yet  still  with 
a  certain  stiffness. 

She  gave  him  the  number  in  (German  Place. 

"  Then  we  are  neighbors,  or  something  near  it,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  at  the  Bristol— the  Bristol  Hotel." 

"  Oh,  really,"  she  made  answer.  "  I  thought  you  had  an  aunt 
living  in  Brighton  t— ti    Udy  who  came  to  see  us  at  Henley." 


S40 


STAND    FABT,  ORAIChBOTaTON  I 


"  Oh,  can  you  remtmber  things  as  long  ago  as  Honley  f  said 
he.  "  I  did  not  thick  a  woman's  memory  could  go  so  far  back 
as  that  A  ^eek— a  day— I  thought  that  was  about  as  much  as 
she  could    .  jiember."  i   ' 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  and  wounded ;  but  she  was  too 
proud  to  betray  anything  to  those  other  two,  and  she  resumed 
her  conversation  with  Vincent,  though  with  a  trifle  more  of 
dignity  and  reserve,  x^  for  Lim,  he  knew  not  what  to  do  or  say. 
He  could  perceive,  he  could  not  but  perceive,  that  Maisrie  was 
trying  to  be  kind  to  bin  ;  and  he  felt  himself  a  sort  of  renegade; 
but  all  the  same  there  was  that  other  sitting  at  the  table — there 
was  an  alien  presence — and  all  things  were  somehow  awry.  And 
yet  why  should  he  despise  that  stranger  f  In  the  bucolic  dandy 
he  could  see  himself  as  he  himself  was  seen  by  certain  of  his 
friends.  This  other  dupe,  his  successor,  had  a  countriJSed  com- 
plexion and  a  steely-blae  eye,  he  wore  a  bonse-shoe  pin  in 
diamonds,  and  had  a  bit  of  stephanotis  in  his  button-hole ;  but 
these  points  of  difference  were  not  of  much  account.  And  the 
old  man — the  old  man  with  the  grand  air  and  the  oracular 
sp'tech;  no  wonder  he  thought  himself  entitled  to  call  himself 
Lord  Bethune ;  but  why  had  he  chosen  to  abase  his  rank  and 
style?  Ob,  yes,  a  striking  presence  enough — a  magnificent 
presence — with  wliich  to  cozen  shopkeepers ! 

For  indeed  this  young  man's  mind  was  all  unhinged.  He  had 
had  a  hard  fight  of  it  that  day;  and  perhaps  if  Maisrie  had 
known  she  would  have  made  allowances.  What  she  did  clearly 
see  was  that  her  well-meant  invitation  had  been  a  mistake.  She 
stirove  her  best  to  remove  this  embarrassment;  she  tried  to 
make  the  conversation  general,  and  in  some  slight  measure  slie 
succeeded,  but  always  there  was  an  obvious  restraint ;  there  w<^rc 
dark  silences  and  difficult  pauses,  and,  on  the  part  of  the  young 
men,  a  sullen  and  dangerous  antagonism  that  might  at  any 
moment  leap  forth  with  a  sadden  tongue  of  flame — a  retort,  an 

insult  :i'$0iti'i--^'P^^M  '^mpM  ■«•■  ■'   :^^ '■    -I  ^'^^  *■<;•■'■ 

This  hapless  entertainment  came  to  an  end  at  last' ;  and,  as 
Vincent  had  expected,  while  Maisrie  was  putting  on  her  cloak, 
their  ne-w  friend  stepped  aside  and  paid  the  bill — the  bill  for 
three,  th&t  is.  And  the  next  step!  An  invitation  that  the 
generous  host  of  the  evening  should  go  along  to  the  rooms  in 
German  Place  f    There  would  be  tobacco,  and  Scotch  whiskey, 


rSTOHl 

Dg  ago  as  Honley  t"  said 
ry  could  go  so  far  back 
at  was  about  as  much  as 

unded ;  but  she  was  too 

r  two,  and  she  resumed 

with  a  trifle  more  of 

w  not  what  to  do  or  say. 

rceive,  that  Maisrie  was 

Qself  a  sort  of  renegade ; 

ting  at  the  table — there 

ere  somehow  awry.  And 

f    In  the  bucolic  dandy 

seen  by  certain  of  his 

,had  a  countrified  com- 

s  a  horse -shoe  pin  in 

in  his  button-hole ;  but 

inch  account    And  the 

air  and  the  oracular 

entitled  to  call  himself 

to  abase  his  rank  and 

enough — a  magnificent 

>ers! 

s  all  unhin<,'ed.  He  had 
perhaps  if  Maisrie  had 
What  she  did  clearly 
id  been  a  mistake.  She 
rassment;  she  tried  to 
ome  slight  measure  she 
us  restraint ;  there  wprc 
1  the  part  of  the  young 
im  that  might  at  any 
e  of  flame — a  retort,  an 

an  end  at  last ;  and,  a8 
s  putting  on  her  clcak, 
I  the  bill— the  biU  for 
in  invitation  that  the 
along  to  the  rooms  in 
50,  and  Scotch  whiskey, 


STAHD   PAST,  OKAIO^BOTSTOK  t 


241 


and  reminiscences  of  travel,  and  dissertations  on  literary  and 
philosophical  subjects— and  perhaps  Maime  would  play  for  him 
"The  Flowers  o'  the  Forest,"  or  sing  for  him  "Isabeau  s'y 
promeae."  Perhaps  the  bucolic  soul  was  penetrable  by  fine 
melody  ?  There  would  be  whiskey^ind-soda,  at  any  rate,  and  a 
blazing  fire. 

And  as  a  matter  of  fact,  when  the  four  of  them  paused  for  a 
second  at  the  door  of  the  restaurant,  the  new  acquaintance  did 
receive  that  invitation— from  George  Bethune  himself.  But  he 
declined. 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  said  he,  "but  I  can't  to-night.  Fact  is, 
there's  a  big  billiard-raatch  on  this  evening,  and  I've  backed  my 
man  for  twenty  pounds,  and  I  may  want  to  hedge  a  bit  if  he  isn't 
in  his  best  form.  Some  other  evening,  if  you'il  allow  me.  But  to- 
morrow moniing— what  are  yon  going  to  do  to-morrow  morn- 
ing ?  You  can't  stay  indoors  while  the  weather  is  so  fine ;  you 
must  leave  your  work  until  the  wet  comes.  So  I  dare  say  I 
shall  find  you  somewhere  along  the  front  about  eleven  to-siwr^ 
row ;  and  if  I  don't,  why,  then,  I'll  come  along  to  G«rmi»;a  Place 
and  drag  you  out.  For  who  ever  knew  such  a  glorious  Decem- 
ber?—quite  warm  in  the  sun— primroses  and  violets,  all  a<grow- 
ing  and  a-blowing,  in  the  baskets.  Good-night  to  you  I— good 
night,  Miss  Bethune !— mind  you  bring  your  grandfather  along 
to-morrow  morning ;  or  I'll  have  to  come  and  drag  you  both 
out ;  goodnight— good-night  I"— and  then  with  a  brief  nod  to 
Vincent,  which  was  frigidly  returned,  ho  departed. 

"  You  are  going  our  way,  Vincent !"  Maisrie  said,  timidly. 

"  Oh,  yei,"  he  made  answer,  as  they  set  out  togbther. 

For  a  few  seconds  they  walked  in  silence^  But  when  they  had 
crossed  the  Old  Steine,  and  gci  into  the  Marine  Parade,  the 
moon  came  into  view,  away  ov9r  there  in  the  east ;  it  w«s  at  the 
fall,  but  rather  dusky,  for  the  north  wind  had  blown  the  smok'J 
of  the  town  down  on  the  sea-front. 

"  Did  yon  noiice  how  clear  the  moon  was  last  night  5"  she 
said  to  break  this  embarrassing  silence. 

'Yes,  I  did,"  he  said.  "I  was  walking  about  a  good  deal 
last  night.    The  moonlight  was  beautiful  on  the  water." 

"Oh,  were  you  down  in  Brighton  last  night?"  she  asked 
rather  anxiously. 

"Yes." 
L 


it|w;ii''iBww!"ij)',«yi!»'ij>ii'W!*i'')iuM.i,ii 


mmfmmm^fi'ifmfm'iim 


849 


STASrO  VAST,  ORAIO-BOriTO»i 


Tk»t  was  all.  She  did  not  dare  to  ask  what  had  brought  him 
dow'j,  aad  he  did  not  choose  to  invent  an  excuse.  Ag;ain  tiiey 
walked  on  for  a  little  while  in  silence,  until  they  reached  the  cor- 
nev  of  Oennan  Place. 

"  Well,  good-night !"  said  George  Bethune,  holding  out  his 
hand.  "  Quite  «  surprise  to  meet  you,  quite  a  surprise.  Hope 
we  shall  see  yon  again  before  you  go  back." 

And  now  it  was  Maisrie's  turn. 

"  Geodrnight,  Vincent,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  seeking  his  in 
mute  appeal. 

"Good-night,"  said  he ;  and  he  did  not  respond  to  that  look. 
So  these  two  parted. 

And  soon,  as  he  walked  lumlessly  onward,  ho  was  away  from 
the  town  altogether.  To  him  it  was  a  hateful  place,  with  its 
contrarieties,  its  disappointments,  its  distracting  problems  in  ha- 
laan  nature.  When  he  turned  to  look  at  it  it  was  like  some 
vast  and  dusky  pit,  with  a  dull  red  glow  shining  over  it  from  its 
innumerable  fires.  Bat  here,  as  he  went  on  again,  all  waspeace. 
The  silver  moonlight  shimmered  on  the  water.  There  was  not 
a  whisper  or  murmur  along  tkee  lofty  and  solitary  cliffs.  A 
cold  wind  blew  from  the  north,  coming  over  the  bare  uplands ; 
but  it  brought  no  sound  of  any  bird  or  beast.  His  shadow  was 
his  aole  companion — vague  and  indefinite  on  the  grass,  but 
sharper  and  blacker  on  the  gray  and  frosted  road.  He  was 
alone,  and  he  wished  to  be  alone ;  and  if  certain  phrases  from 
the  "Claire  Fontaine"  would  come  foltowmg  and  haunting  him 
— "  J^ai  perdu  ma  maitresse  sans  I'avoir  m4rit6,  pour  un  bou- 
quet de  roses,  que  je  lui  refusal " — ^he  strovfi  to  repel  them ;  he 
would  have  none  of  them,  nor  any  remembrance  of  what  was  past 
and  gone.  The  world  was  sweet  to  him  h«re,  because  he  was 
alone  with  the  sea  and  shore,  and  the  mystic  splendor  of  those 
shining  heavens ;  and  because  he  seemed  to  have  shiiken  him- 
self free  from  the  enmities  and  the  treacheries  and  ingratitudes 
that  lay  festering  in  yonder  town. 


mm 


VtAW  WAat,  OBAXO-BOTBVOV I 


Ml 


it  hsd  broagH  him 
[sase.  Again  tiiey 
«y  reachod  the  cor- 

le,  holding  ont  his 
a  surprise.    Hope 


eyes  seeking  his  in 

iSpond  to  that  look. 

;,  ho  was  away  from 
befnl  place,  with  its 
ting  problems  in  ha- 
lt it  was  like  some 
ling  over  it  from  its 
again,  all  was.  peace, 
ter.    There  was  not 
d  solitary  cliffs.    A 
r  the  bare  uplands ; 
it    His  shadow  was 
on  the  gnu»,bnt 
ted  road.    He  was 
lertain  phrases  from 
g  and  haunting  him 
i4rit^,  pour  un  bou- 
«  to  repel  them ;  he 
Qce  of  what  was  past 
ere,  because  he  was 
ie  aplendor  of  those 
X)  have  shftken  him- 
■ies  and  ingratitttdes 


-*«"■■• 


CHAPTER  XV. 


BXnBWIKQ   IS   or  LOVK. 


Nbzt  morning  broke  bright  and  clear,  for  the  north  wind  had 
blown  freshly  aU  the  night,  and  swept  the  smoke  of  the  town 
right  ont  to  sea,  where  it  lay  along  the  horison  an  a  soft  saffron- 
reddish  cloud.  Accordingly  the  sky  overhead  was  of  a  summer- 
like  blue,  and  the  sea  was  of  a  shining  green,  save  where  it  grew 
opaque  and  brown  as  it  neared  the  shore,  while  tiie  welcome 
sunlight  was  everywhere  abroad,  giving  promise  of  a  cheerful 
day,  even  now  in  December.  And  Yin  Harris  was  standing  at 
a  window  of  the  hotel,  looking  absently  out  on  the  wide  and 
empty  thoroughfares. 

A  waiter  brought  him  a  note.  He  glanced  at  the  handwrit- 
ing with  startled  eyes,  then  tore  the  envelope  opeui  This  was 
what  he  read : 

"  DiAa  YnoKDiT,— I  wish  to  spcik  vith  joa  for  a  moment  if  joa  are  not 
«ngftge<].  I  am  going  down  to  the  bre»liwatcr,  imd  wili  wait  there  for  a  Uttle 
nhilc.  MtJMUt." 

He  called  to  the  waiter. 
"  When  did  this  come !" 

"  I  found  it  lying  on  the  haJl-table,  sir —just  this  minute,  sir." 
He  did  not  waste  time  on  further  questions.     In  a  couple  of 
scKonds  he  was  outside  and  bad  crossed  the  road,  and  there, 
Kure  enough,  far  below  him  ont  on  the  breakwater,  was  a  soli- 
tiry  figure  that  he  instantly  recognized.    He  went  quickly  down 
the  stsps ;  he  did  not  stay  to  ask  what  this  might  mean^  or  to  pre- 
pare himself  in  any  way.,    As  he  approached  her  all  his  anxiety 
was  lo  know  if  her  eyes  were  kind  or  hostUe.     Well,  they  were 
neither ;  but  there  was  «,  certain  pride  in  her  tone  as  she  spoke. 
"  Vincent,  you  were  aagtj  with  me  hai  night.     Why  f" 
"  I^Iaisrie,"  said  he,  "  why  don't  you  put  up  that  furred  collar 
round  your  neck!     It  is  so  cold  this  morning.     See,  let  me  put 
it  up  for  you,"  < 


.^.Mimf 


i4iimiip...jiiMjp.iii,iii 


iww"»w'  mmfmmmmmmm>mm'i>9><>!0i 


ui 


VtAVtt  -kfft,  OftAIO-MtSTOiri 


Stie  retreated  an  inch,  declining ;  she  vaited  for  him  to  an- 
awer  her  question. 

»'  Angry  with  you !"  he  said,  with  ohvious  constraint.  "  No, 
hut  I  was  vexed.  I  was  vexed  with  a  lot  of  things  that  I  can 
hardly  explain.  Not  with  you  personally — at  least — well,  at  any 
rate,  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  yon.  If  I  have  offended  you  I 
ask  your  pardon." 

Here  ho  paused ;  those  stammering  sentences  were  so  insuflS- 
oient.     And  then  all  at  once  he  said, 

"  Maisrie,  who  was  that  young  man f         .  lA  ,  M'' ''>^— 

She  looked  surprised.  v>i  v?  .?v    s  >;;  .  > ' 

"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Glover?" 

<'  Glover ! — oh,  that  is  bis  name.  But  who  is  he  t — what  is 
he  ? — ^how  did  you  come  to  know  him  so  intimately  ?" 

Perhaps  she  began  to  see  a  little. 

"  I  don't  know  him  at  all,  Vincent.  He  is  a  friend  of  my 
grandfather's — or,  rather,  he  is  the  son  of  a  friend  of  my  grand- 
father's— a  wine-merchant  in  Lo:  ■^on.  We  met  him  on  the  day 
we  came  here—" 

<«  And  he  lost  no  time  in  showing  off  his  acquaintance  with 
you,"  said  Vincent,  bitterly,  "  driving  you  up  and  down  the 
King's  Eoad  before  ail  Brighton !" 

At  this  she  lowered  her  head  a  little. 

«« I  did  not  wish  to  go,  Vincent.  Grandfather  pressed  me.  I 
did  not  like  to  rof  nae." 

"  Oh,"  sai "  .e,  "  I  have  no  right  to  object.  It  is  not  for  mo 
to  object.  Ir  new  friends  are  to  be  treated  as  old  friends,  what 
does  it  matter !" 

She  regarded  him  reproachfoily. 

••  YoA  know  very  well,  Vincent,  that  if  I  had  thought  it  would 
vex  you,  I  would  not  have  gone — no,  nothing  in  the  world  would 
have  induced  me — nothing!  And  how  cruel  it  is  of  yon  to 
speak  of  ne"?r  friends,  and  to  say  that  old  friends  are  so  quickly 
forgotten !  Is  that  all  you  believe  of  what  I  have  told  you  many 
a  time  ?  But—but  if  I  have  pained  yo>.',  I  am  sorry,"  she  con- 
tinued, still  witt  dowTicast  hwihes.  "  Tell  me  what  you  wish  me 
to  do.  I  will  not  speak  to  him  again,  if  you  would  rather  I 
should  not.  If  he  comes  to  the  house,  I  will  stay  in  my  own 
room  until  he  is  gone — anything,  anything  rather  than  that  yon 
ahouid  be  vexed.     For  you  have  been  so  kicd  to  me  I" 


'mmm 


nam 


mnim 


lited  for  him  to  an- 

is  constraint.  "  No, 
of  things  that  I  can 
at  least — well,  at  any 
bave  offended  yon  I 

mces  were  so  insuflS- 

who  is  he  t — what  is 
itimately?" 

[e  is  a  friend  of  my 
I  friend  of  my  grand- 
t  met  him  on  the  day 


■VAKD  VAST,  OKAia-BOTSTOM  t 


945 


is  acqoaintance  with 
1  up  and  down  the 


'athcr  pressed  me.    I 

set.     It  is  not  for  mo 
[  as  old  friends,  what 


liad  thought  it  would 
g  in  the  world  would 
sruel  it  is  of  you  to 
riends  are  so  quickly 
I  have  told  yow  many 
'.  am  sorry,"  she  coa- 
ae  what  you  wish  me 

vou  would  rather  I 
will  stay  in  my  own 

rather  than  that  you 
icd  to  me !" 


"No,  no,"  Mid  he,  hastily.  ««No;  I  have  been  altogether 
wrong.  Do  just  as  you  please  yourself,  Maisrie— that  will  be 
the  right  thing.  I  have  been  an  ass  and  a  fool  to  doubt  you. 
But — but  it  made  me  mad  to  think  of  any  man  coming  between 
you  and  me — " 

»  Vincent  1" 

She  raised  her  head,  and  for  one  ineffable  moment  her  maiden 
eyes  were  unveiled  and  fixed  upon  him — with  such  a  tenderness 
and  pride  and  trust  as  altogether  bewildered  him  and  entranced 
him  beyond  the  powers  of  speech.  For  here  was  confession  at 
last  I  Her  soul  had  declared  itself.  No  matter  what  might 
happen  now,  he  knew  she  was  his  own !  And  yet,  when  she 
spoke,  it  was  as  if  she  had  divined  his  thoughts,  and  would  dis. 
sipate  that  too  wonderful  dream. 

"No,"  she  said,  rather  wistfully,  and  her  eyes  were  averted 
again ;  "  that  is  the  last  thing  you  need  think  about,  Vincent. 
No  man  will  ever  come  between  you  and  me ;  no  man  will  ever 
take  your  place  in  my  regard — and — and — esteem " 

"  Is  that  all,  Maisrie  ?"  he  said,  gently ;  but  in  truth  that  sud- 
den revelation  had  left  him  all  trembling  and  overjoyed.  He 
was  almost  afraid  to  speak  to  her,  lest  she  should  withdraw  that 
unspoken  avowal. 

"  And— and  affection.  Why  should  not  I  say  it !  I  may  not 
have  another  chance,"  she  went  on.  "  You  need  not  fear,  Vin- 
cent No  man  will  ever  come  between  you  and  me ;  but  a  wom- 
an will — and  welcome  I  You  will  marry— -you  will  be  happy— 
and  no  one  will  be  better  pleased  to  hear  of  it  all  than  I  shall. 
And  why,"  she  continued,  with  a  kind  of  cheerfulni  is — "  why, 
even  in  that  case,  should  we  speak  of  any^  one  coming  between 
us?  We  shall  have  the  same  affection,  the  same  kind  thoughts, 
even  then,  I  hope." 

"Maisrie,  why  do  you  talk  like  that?"  he  protested.  "You 
know  quite  well  that  you  will  be  my  wife— or  no  one." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  If  you  do  not  see  for  yourself  that  it  is  impossible— if  you 
do  not  understand,  Vincent,  then  some  day  I  must  tell  you." 

"  Ah,  but  you  have  told  me  something  far  more  important, 
and  only  a  minute  or  two  ago,"  said  he.  "You  have  told  me 
all  I  want  to  know,  this  very  morning !  You  are  not  aware  of 
the  confession  you  have  made  since  you  &^me  out  on  this  himk' 


946 


STAND  VABT,  ORAIQ-IIOTtTOlII 


mi 


!?*• 


water  f  I  have  ceen  in  yoar  eyes  what  I  never  saw  before ;  and 
everything  else  is  to  rae  as  nothing.  Difficulties  t  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  them.  I  see  our  way  as  clear  as  daylight ;  ind  there's 
neither  man  nor  woman  coming  between  us.  OL,  yes,  I  have 
discovered  suiuething  this  morning  that  makes  our  way  clear 
enough.  Maisrie,  do  you  know  what  woa'iarf ul  eyes  you  have  f 
They  can  say  so  many  things — perhaps  even  more  than  you  in» 
tend.  So  much  the  better — so  much  the  better,  for  I  know  they 
speak  true." 

She  did  not  seem  to  share  his  joyous  confidence. 

"  I  must  be  going  now,  Vincent,"  she  said.  "  Grandfather 
will  wonder  why  I  am  so  long  in  ge.ung  his  newspapers.  And 
I  am  glad  to  know  you  are  no  longer  vexed  with  me.  I  could 
not  bear  that ;  and  I  will  take  care  you  shall  have  no  further 
Clause — indeed  I  will,  Vincent." 

She  was  for  bid4ing  him  good-bye,  but  he  detained  her — a 
wild  wish  had  como  into  his  head. 

" Maisrie,"  siid  he,  with  a  little  hesitation,  " couldn't  you — 
wouldn't  you  give  me  some  little  thing  to  keep  as  a  souvenir  of 
this  happy  morning?  Ah,  you  don't  know  all  you  have  told 
m\  perhaps.  Ouly  some  little  thing.  Could  you  give  me  a 
sai  dal-wood  bead,  Maisrie  ?  Could  you  cut  one  off  your  neck- 
lace ?  and  I  will  get  a  small  gold  case  made  for  it,  and  wear  it 
always  nnd  always ;  and  when  I  open  it  the  perfume  will  remind 
me  of  you  and  of  our  walks  together,  and  the  evenings  in  that 
little  parlor — " 

But  instantly  she  had  pulled  off  her  gloves,  and  with  busy 
fingers  unclasped  the  necklace ;  then  she  touched  it  with  her 
lips,  and  placed  the  whole  of  the  warm  and  scented  treasure  in 
his  hand. 

"  I  only  wanted  some  of  the  beads,  Maisrie,"  said  he,  with 
something  of  shamefacedness. 

"  Take  it,  Vincent ;  I  have  not  many  things  to  give,"  she  said, 
simply. 

"  Then — then  would  you  wear  something  if  I  gave  it  to  you  ?" 
he  asked. 

'     "  0I>,  yes,  if  you  would  like  that,"  she  answered  at  once. 
'     "  Oh,  well,  I  must  try  to  get  something  nice — something  ap- 
propriate," said  he.     "  I  wonder  if  a  Brighton  jeweller  could 
make  me  a  small  white  dove  in  ivory  or  mother-of-pearl,  that 


ssMm 


m 


iver  saw  before ;  and 
iCuIties  t  I  don't  be- 
laylight;  ind  there's 
us. 

makes  our  way  clear 
arf ul  eyes  you  have ! 
»n  more  than  yon  in- 
etter,  for  I  know  they 

nfidence. 

said.  "  Grandfather 
is  newspapers.  And 
id  with  me.  I  could 
ihall  have  no  further 


t  he  detained  her — a 

ion,  "  couldn't  you — 
keep  as  a  souvenir  of 
>w  all  you  have  told 
lould  you  give  me  a 
it  one  off  your  neck- 
lo  for  it,  and  wear  it 
I  perfume  will  remind 
the  evenings  in  that 

loves,  and  with  busy 

touched  it  with  her 

d  scented  treasure  in 

aisrie,"  said  he,  with 

ags  to  give,"  she  said, 

J  if  I  gave  it  to  you  ?" 

nswered  at  once. 

nice — something  ap- 
ghton  jeweller  could 

mother-of-pearl,  that 


"  With  butyfingert  uneUuped  the  necklace." 


^■l-»    t,    >.:t'?iilf ; 


•<*^!*iPi 


nAWO  FAIT,  OBAIChBOTMOir  I 


947 


you  conld  wear  jast  m  if  it.  hac  alighted  on  your  breast — a  pin, 
you  know,  for  your  neck ;  and  the  pin  conld  be  made  of  a  row 
of  rubies  or  sapphires,  while  the  dove  itself  would  be  white." 

"  But,  Vincent,"  she  said,  doubtingly,  <<  if  I  were  to  vear 
thfttt" 

'<  What  would  it  mean  t  Is  that  what  you  ask  t  Shall  I  tell 
you,  Maiarie  t    It  would  mean  a  betrothal." 

She  shrank  back. 

•*  No,  no,"  she  said.    "  No,  I  could  not  wear  that  T* 

"Oh,  are  you  frightened  by  a  i/ordF'  said  ho,  clieerfaUy. 
"  Very  well-  -very  well ;  it  sha'n't  mean  anything  of  the  kind. 
It  will  only  serve  to  remind  you  of  a  morning  on  which  you  and 
I  went  for  a  little  stroll  down  a  breakwater  at  Brighton,  when 
tho  Brighton  people  wore  so  kind  as  to  leave  it  all  to  ourselves. 
Nothing  more  than  that,  Maiarie,  if  you  wish  it  Only  yon  most 
wear  the  little  white  dove,  as  an  emblem  of  peace  and  good-will, 
and  a  messenger  bringing  you  good  "^s  and  a  lot  of  things 
like  that,  that  Fm  too  stnpid  to  put  into  words.  For  this  is  a 
morning  not  to  be  forgotten  by  either  of  us,  all  our  lives  long, 
I  hope.  You  think  you  have  not  said  anything!  Then  you 
shouldn  i  IiHve  such  tell-tale  eyes,  M.  isrie  I  And  I  believe  them. 
I  don't  believe  you  when  you  talk  about  vagne  impossibilHies. 
Well,  I  suppose  I  must  let  you  go ;  and  I  suppose  we  cannot 
say  good-bye— out  here  in  the  open — " 

"  But  you  are  coming  too,  Vincent — a  little  way  f" 

"  As  far  as  ever  yon  will  allow  me,"  said  he.  "  Till  the  end 
of  life,  if  yon  like,  and  as  I  hope." 

But  that  was  looking  too  far  ahead  in  the  present  circum- 
stances. 

"What  are  yon  going  to  do  to-day,  Maisriet"  he  asked,  as 
tbey  were  leaving  the  breakwater  and  making  up  for  the  Marine 
Parade.    ••  Oh,  I  forgot ;  yon  are  going  out  walking  at  eleven." 

She  blushed  slightly.  "  No,  Vincent ;  I  think  I  shall  remai;^ 
at  home." 

"  On  a  morning  like  this? — impossible !  Why,  y^u  must  go 
out  in  the  sanlight.     Sunlight  is  rare  in  Decomber;" 

Then  she  said,  with  some  little  embarrassment,  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  vex  yon  any  more,  Vincent.    If  I  went  out  with  grand-, 
father  we  should  meet  Mr.  Glover—" 
"  Mr.  Glover  I"  be  said,  intormpting  her.    '*  Dearest  Maisrie,  * 


948 


BTAND    VAn,  OKAIO-ROTttONI 


I  don't  mind  if  yon  were  to  go  walking  with  twenty  Mr.  Glovers ! 
— I  don't  mind  that  now.  It  is  the  lunlight  that  is  of  import 
ance;  it  '  ^[nttiag  you  into  the  sunlight  that  is  everything. 
And  if  Ik  ' '  vor  asks  you  to  go  driving  with  him  in  the  after- 
noon, of  course  you  must  gol — it  will  interest  you  to  see  the 
crowd  and  the  carriages,  and  it  will  keep  you  in  the  fresh  air. 
Oh,  yes,  if  I'm  along  in  the  King's  Road  this  afternoon  I  shall 
look  out  for  you ;  and  if  you  should  happen  to  see  roe.  then 
just  remember  that  you  have  given  me  your  sandal-woou  .ck- 
lace,  and  that  I  am  the  proudest  and  happiest  pomon  io  the 
whole  *own  of  Brighton.  Why,  of  course  you  must  go  out, 
both  morning  and  afternoon,"  he  continued,  in  this  gay  and 
generous  fashion,  as  they  were  mounting  tho  steps  towards  the 
upper  thoroughfare.  "  Sunlight  is  just  all  tho  world  for  flow- 
ers, and  pretty  young  ladies,  and  similar  things ;  and  now  you're 
away  from  the  London  fogs  yoa  must  make  the  best  of  it.  It 
is  very  wise  o'  your  grandfather  to  lay  aside  his  work  while  the 
fine  weather  lasts.  Now  be  a  good,  sensible  girl,  and  go  out  at 
eleven  o'clock."  '.Ma.'ka  wabfej's ..Vit.-fc' 

"  Vincent,"  she  sai-l,  «•  if  I  do  go  with  grandfather  this  morn- 
ing, will  you  come  down  to  ilie  town  and  join  us  i" 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  he,  rather  hesitatingly,  "  I — I  do  not  wish 
to  inflict  myself  on  anybody.  But  don't  mistake,  Maisrie :  I 
shall  be  quite  happy,  even  if  I  see  you  walking  up  and  down 
with  the  purveyor  of  bad  sherry.  It  won't  vex  me  in  the  least. 
Something  ;  ou  told  me  this  morning  has  made  mc  proof  against 
all  that  The  important  thing  isthat^oa  shcold  keep  in  the 
sunlight"   -is?^  ^Ui-9l '  ^^rnSvi  iHii^'m.-}  •miM:  ■ 

"  I  ask  you  to  come,  Vincent" 

*'  Oh,  very  well,  ocrf^nly,"  said  he,  not  knowing  what  dark 
design  was  in  her  mind. 

He  was  soon  to  discover.  When  he  left  her  in  St  James's 
Street,  whither  she  had  g^ne  to  get  the  moming  newspapers 
for  her  grandfather,  he  went  back  to  the  hotel,  and  to  his  own 
room,  to  take  out  this  priceless  treasure  of  a  necklace  she  had 
bestowed  on  him,  and  to  wonder  how  best  he  could  make  of  it 
a  cunning  talisman  that  he  could  have  near  his  heart  night  and 
day.  And  also  he  set  fb  work  to  sketch  out  designs  for  the 
little  breastpin  he  meant  to  have  made,  with  its  transverse  iov 
of  rabi<}s  or  sapphires,  with  its  white  dove  in  the  esntrs.    An 


»^ 


Ill 


•TAHD   7AtT,  OBAIdhKOrnOlf  t 


U9 


twenty  Mr.  Glovers ! 
it  that  is  of  iraport- 

that  IB  everything, 
ith  hiiu  in  the  after- 
irebt  you  to  see  the 
rou  in  the  fresh  air. 
Ilia  afternoon  I  shall 
ten  to  see  me.  then 
r  sandal-woou  .ck- 
piost  poreon  in  the 
)  yon  must  go  out, 
ed,  in  this  gay  and 
>o  steps  towards  the 

the  world  for  flow- 
igs ;  and  now  you're 
a  the  best  of  it  It 
)  his  work  while  the 
0  girl,  and  go  out  at 

indfather  this  morn- 
in  us  t" 

"  I — I  do  not  wish 
mistake,  Maisrie :  I 
liking  up  and  down 
vex  me  in  the  least, 
ide  mc  proof  against 
shculd  keep  in  the 


knowing  what  dark 

her  in  St.  James's 
loming  newspapers 
tel,  and  to  his  own 
a  necklace  she  had 
le  could  make  of  it 
his  heart  night  and 
ont  designs  fov  the 

its  transverse  tOyr 
in  the  eentre.    An 


inscription!  That  was  hardly  needed — there  was  a  sufficient 
understanding  between  him  and  her.  And  surely  this  was  a 
betrothal,  despite  her  timid  shrinking  back  I  The  avowal  of 
thut  morning  had  been  more  to  him  than  words ;  daring  that 
brief  m,oment  it  seemed  as  if  heaven  shone  in  her  eyes ;  and  as 
if  ho  could  see  there,  as  in  a  vision,  all  the  years  to  come — all 
the  years  that  he  and  she  wore  to  Le  together — shining  with  a 
soft,  celestial  radiance.  And  would  not  this  small  white  dove 
convoy  itc  message  of  peace  when  it  lay  on  her  bosom,  "so 
light, so  light!" 

Then  all  of  a  sadden  it  occurred  to  him — why,  be  had  been 
talking  and  walking  with  an  adventuress,  a  begging-letter  im- 
postor, a  common  swindler,  and  had  quite  forgotten  to  be  on  his 
guard.  All  the  solemn  warnings  he  had  received  had  entirely 
vanished  from  his  mind  when  he  was  ont  there  on  the  break- 
water with  Maur  e  Bethune.  He  had  looked  into  her  eyes,  and 
never  thought  of  any  swindling  I  Had  this  sandal-wood  neck- 
lace— that  was  sweet  with  a  fragrance  more  than  its  own — that 
seemed  to  have  still' soon  lingering  warmth  in  it,  borrowed  from 
its  recent  and  secset  resting-place — been  given  him  as  a  lure ! 
The  white  deve«<<«igiitficant  of  all  innocence  and  parity  and 
peace — was  that  to  rest  on  tli«  heart  ot  a  traitress !  Well,  per- 
haps. But  it  did  not  appear  tO'  ooncem  him  much,  as  he  got 
his  hat  and  cane  and  palled  on  a  fresh  pair  of  gloves,  and  went 
out  into  the  open  air.  .'i' 

Nay,  he  was  in  a  magnanimous  mood  towards  all  mankind. 
He  would  not  even  seek  to  interfere  with  Sherry,  as  he  mentally 
and  meanly  styled  his  rival.  If  it  pleased  the  young  gentleman 
in  the  covert-coat  to  walk  up  and  down  the  King's  Road  with 
Maisrio  Bethune,  very  welL  U  he  took  her  for  a  drive  after 
luncheon,  that  wonld  amuse  her,  and  also  was  well  The  time 
for  jealous  dread,  for  ang^  suspicions,  for  reproachful  accusa- 
tions, was  over  and  gone.  A  glance  from  Maisrie's  eyes  had 
banished  all  that  Sherry  might  parade  his  acquaintanceship  as 
mtich  as  he  chose,  so  long  as  Maisrie  was  kept  in  the  open  air 
and  the  sunlight — that  was  the'  all-important  point 

By  and  by  he  went  away  down  to  the  King's  Roftd,  and  very 
spcodily  espied  the  three  figures  he  expected  to  find  there, 
though  as  yet* they  were  at  some  distance.  They  were  coming 
towards  him ;  in  a  few  minutes  he  would  be  face  to  faee  with 


■S>' 


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^..^  ^'^'  ..o. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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Microfiche 

Series. 


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Collection  de 
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FV   ■ 


tso 


BTAH9   rABT,  OBAIO-BOTBTOIT I 


them.  And  he  had  made  np  his  mind  what  he  meant  to  do. 
Maisrie  shoald  see  that  he  vas  actuated  no  longer  by  jealous 
rage;  that  he  had  confidence  in  her;  that  he  feared  no  rival 
now.  And  so  it  was  that  when  they  came  near  ha  merely  gave 
them  a  general  and  pleasant  "  Good-morning !"  and  raised  his 
hat  to  Maisrie,  and  was  for  passing  on.  But  he  had  reckoned 
without  his  host,  or  hostess  rather. 

"  Vincent  I"  said  Maisrie,  in  expostulation. 

Then  he  stopped. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  with  as  t  We  are  going  along  to  the 
Chain  Pier  to  get  out  of  the  crowd.    Won't  you  come  f 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  I  may,"  said  he,  gladly  enough ;  and  he  knew 
that  the  other  young  man  was  staring,  not  to  say  scowling,  at 
this  unwelcome  intrusion. 

Now  Maisrie  had  been  walking  between  her  grandfather  and 
young  CHover ;  but  the  moment  that  Vincent  joined  the  little 
party  she  fell  behind. 

"  Four  abreast  are  too  many,"  said  she.  "  We  must  go  two 
and  two.    Orandfather,  will  you  lead  the  way  with  Mr.  Glover  f' 

It  was  done,  and  dexterously  done,  in  a  moment ;  and  if  the 
■election  of  the  new-comer  as  her  companion  was  almost  too 
open  and  marked,  perhaps  that  was  her  intention.  At  all  events, 
—'  en  the  two  others  had  moved  forward,  Vincent  said  in  an 
ii>,-ertone,  »v 

"  This  is  very  kind  of  you,  Maisrie." 

And  she  replied  rather  proudly, 

"  I  wished  to  show  you  that  I  could  distL-rgnish  between  old 
and  new  friends." 

Then  he  grew  humble. 

•<  Maisrie,"  said  he, "  don't  you  treasure  dp  things  against  me. 
It  was  only  a  phrase.  And  just  rememb'ar  how  I  was  situated. 
I  came  away  down  to  Brighton  merely  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
you;  and  about  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  this  young  fellow, 
whom  I  had  never  heard  of,  driving  yon  up  and  down  among 
the  fashioaable  crowd.  You  see,  Maisrie,  you  hadn't  given  me 
the  sandal-wood  necklace  then ;  and,  what  is  of  far  more  con- 
sequence, you  hadn't  allowed  your  eyes  to  tell  me  what  they 
told  me  this  morning.  So  what  was  I  to  think  t  No  harm  of 
you,  of  coarse ;  but  I  was  miserable,  and — and  t  thought  yon 
coald  Murily  forget    And  all  the  afterooon  I  looked  oat  for 


MiHiipiiipMiMiHilPlMPH 


Pft^ 


SHI 

rhat  he  meant  to  do. 
no  longer  by  jealous 
it  he  feared  no  rival 
>  near  ho  merely  gave 
ling !"  and  raised  his 
But  he  had  reckoned 

>n. 

re  going  along  to  the 
a't  you  come  f 
noagh;  and  he  knew 
ot  to  Bay  scowling,  at 

n  her  grandfather  and 
Qcent  joined  the  little 

J.  "  We  must  go  two 
way  with  Mr.  Glover!" 
a  moment ;  and  if  the 
[Minion  was  almost  too 
itention.  At  all  events, 
rd,  Vincent  siud  in  an 


istingnish  between  old 


.  ap  things  against  me. 
vit  how  I  waa  sitoated. 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
ras  this  yonng  follow, 
a  np  and  down  among 
I,  you  hadn't  given  me 
lat  is  of  far  more  con- 
to  tell  me  what  they 
»  think  I  No  harm  of 
id — and  t  thought  you 
Doon  I  looked  oat  for 


STAirO   rAST,  ORAXO-BOTSTON  I 


2ffl 


yon,  and  all  the  evening  I  wandered  about  the  streets,  wonder- 
ing whether  ym  would  be  in  one  of  the  restaurants  or  hotels. 
If  I  could  only  have  spoken  a  word  with  you  I  But  then,  yon 
know,  I  had  been  in  a  kind  of  way  shut  off  from  you ;  and — 
and  there  was  this  new  acquaintance." 

« I  am  very  sorry,  Vincent,"  she  said,  also  in  a  low  voice.  "  It 
seems  such  a  pity  that  one  should  vex  one's  friends  uninten- 
tionally; because  in  looking  back  you  like  to  think  of  their 
always  being  pleased  .with  yon.  And  then,  again,  there  may 
be  no  chance  of  making  up,  and  you  are  sorry  when  it  is  too 
late." 

"  Gome,  come,  Maisrie,"  said  he,  with  greater  freedom,  for 
some  people  had  intervened,  and  the  other  two  were  now  a  lit- 
tle way  ahead ;  "  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  talk  in  that  way. 
You  always  speak  as  if  yon  and  I  were  to  be  separated." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better,  Vincent  F'  she  said,  simply. 

"Why?" 

"  Why  I"  she  repeated  in  an  absent  kind  of  way.  "  Well,  you 
know  nothing  about  us,  Vincent." 

"  I  have  been  told  a  good  deal  of  late,  then  1"  he  said,  in  care- 
less scorn. 

And  the  next  instant  he  wished  he  had  bitten  his  tongue  out 
ere  making  that  haphasard  speech.  The  girl  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  curions,  qniok  scmtiny,  as  if  she  were  afraid. 

"What  have  you  been  told,  Vincent!"  she  demanded,  in 
quite  an  altered  tone. 

"  Oh,  nothing  1"  he  said,  with  disdain ;  "  a  lot  of  rubbish  1 
Every  one  has  good-natured  friends,  I  suppose,  who  won't  be 
satisfied  with  minding  their  own  business.  And  although  you 
may  laugh  at  the  moment  at  the  mere  ridiculousness  of  the 
thing,  still,  if  it  should  happen  that  just  at  the  same  time  you 
should  see  some  one  yon  arc  very  fond  of  in — in  a  position  that 
yon  can't  explain  to  yourself — well,  then —  But  what  is  the 
use  of  talking,  Maisrie  f  I  confess  that  I  was  jealoas  out  of  all 
reason — jealous  to  the  verge  of  madness ;  but  then  I  paid  the 
penalty  in  hours  and  hours  of  misery.  And  now  yon  come 
along  and  heap  coaht  of  fire  on  my  head,  until  I  am  so  ashamed 
of  myself  that  I  don't  think  I  am  fit  to  live.  And  that's  all 
about  it ;  and  my  only  ezeose  is  that  yon  had  not  told  me  then 
what  your  eyes  told  me  tbii  moroing," 


^m 


wm 


iS2 


8TANO    FAST,  CBAIQ-ROYBTON I 


She  renudned  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  little  while ;  but  as 
she  made  no  further  reference  to  his  inadvertent  admission  that 
he  had  heard  certain  things  of  herself  and  her  grandfather,  he 
inwardly  hoped  that  that  unlucky  speech  had  gone  from  her 
memory.  Moreover,  they  were  come  to  the  Chain  Pier,  and 
as  those  two  in  front  waited  for  them  so  that  they  should  go 
through  the  turnstile  one  after  the  other,  there  was  just  then  no 
opportunity  for  further  confidential  talking.  But  once  on  the 
pier,  old  George  Bcthune,  who  was  eagerly  dib::>urBing  on  so^ie 
subject  or  another  (with  magnificent  emphasb  of  arm  and  b''ck), 
drew  ahead  again,  taking  his  companion  with  him.  And  Vin 
Harris,  regarding  the  picturesque  figure  of  the  old  man,  and  his 
fine,  enthusiastic  manner,  which  at  all  events  seemed  so  sincere, 
began  to  wonder  whether  there  could  be  any  grains  of  troth  in 
the  story  that  had  been  told  him,  or  whether  it  was  a  complete 
and  malevolent  fabrication.  His  appeairioic'e  and  demeanor,  cer- 
tainly, were  not  those  of  a  professional  impostor ;  it  was  hard 
to  understand  hovir  a  man  of  his  proud  and  blunt  self-assertion 
could  manage  to  wheedle  wine-merchants  and  tailors.  Had  he 
really  called  himself  Lord  Bethune ;  or  was  it  not  far  more  like- 
ly that  some  ignorant  colonial  folk,  impressed  by  his  talk  of  high 
lineage  and  by  his  personal  dignity,  had  bestowed  on  him  that 
title }  The  young  man — ^guessing  and  wondering — began  to  re- 
call the  various  counts  of  that  sinister  indictment;  and  at  last 
he  said  to  his  companion,  in  a  musing  kind  of  way : 

"  Maisrie,  you  know  that  motto  your  grandfather  is  so  proud 
of,  '  Stand  Fast,  Craig-Boyston  I '  t  Have  you  any  idea  where 
Craig-Royston  is  ¥' 

"  I  ?    No,  not  at  all,"  she  said,  simply.  •    •  • . 

"  You  have  never  been  there  f"  ■   '         ' 

"  Vincent,"  she  said,  "  yon  know  I  have  never  been  in  Scot- 
land." 

<<  Because  there  is  such  an  odd  thing  in  connection  with  it," 
he  contipjc<i,  "In  one  edition  of  Black's  'Guide  to  Scotland' 
Craig-Boyston  is  not  mentioned  anywhere,  and  in  another  it  is 
mentioned,  but  only  in  a  footnote.  And'  I'can't  find  it  on  the 
tnap.  You  don't  know  if  there  are  any  people^  of  your  taame 
living  there  now !" 

"f  am' sure  I  cannot  say,"  she  made  answer.  "  Gfnindfather 
could  tell  yon ;  he  is  always  interested  in  such  things." 


iiriwiipmi 


JTONI 

r  s  little  wbile ;  bnt  as 
Ivertent  admission  that 
ad  her  grandfather,  he 
;h  had  gone  from  her 
>  the  Chain  Pier,  and 
io  that  they  should  go 
there  was  just  then  no 
ing.  But  once  on  the 
ly  dL:'>urBing  on  80"ie 
basis  of  arm  and  t>''ck), 
1  with  him.  And  Vin 
of  the  old  man,  and  his 
ents  seemed  so  sincere, 
)  any  grains  of  truth  in 
sther  it  was  a  complete 
^ce  and  demeanor,  cer- 
impostor ;  it  was  hard 
and  blunt  self-assertion 
s  and  tailors.  Had  he 
ras  it  not  far  more  like- 
Rsed  by  his  talk  of  high 
1  bestowed  on  him  that 
ondering — began  to  re- 
ndictment ;  and  at  last 
[nd  of  way : 

^ndfathor  is  so  proud 
B  you  any  idea  where 


ive  never  been  in  Scot- 

in  connection  with  it," 
k's'OnidetoScoUand' 
ire,  and  in  another  it  is 
d'  I'can't  find  it  on  the 
Y  people^of  your  taame 

answer.    "  Gfrandfather 
a  SQcb  tbinga," 


STAND    »A8T,  CRAIO-ROTCTON  i 


8M 


"And  Balloray,"  he  went  on,  "I  could  find  no  mention  of 
Balloray ;  but  of  course  there  must  be  such  a  pUce  ?" 

"  I  wish  there  was  not,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  It  is  the  one  bit- 
ter thing  in  my  grandfather's  life,  I  wish  there  never  had  been 
any  such  place.  But  I  have  noticed  a  change  in  him  of  late. 
He  does  not  complain  now  as  he  used  to  complain ;  he  is  more 
resigned ;  indeed,  he  seldom  talks  of  it ;  and  when  I  say  com- 
plain, that  is  hardly  the  word.  Don't  you  think  he  bears  his 
lot  with  great  fortitude?  I  am  sure  it  is  more  on  my  account 
than  his  own  that  he  over  thinks  of  the  estate  that 'was  lost. 
And  I  am  sure  he  is  happier  with  his  books  than  with  all  the 
land  and  money  that  could  be  given  to  him.  He  seems  to  fancy 
that  those  old  Sv^ngs  and  ballads  belong  to  him ;  they  are  his 
property ;  he  is  happier  with  them  than  with  a  big  estate  and 
riches." 

"  I  could  not  find  Ballor»y  in  the  index  to  the  '  Guide,' "  Vin- 
cent resumed, "  but  of  course  there  must  be  such  a  place — there 
is  the  ballad  your  grandfather  is  so  fond  of,  'The  bonnie  mill- 
danis  o'  Balloray.' " 

She  looked  up  suddenly,  with  some  distress  in  her  face. 

"  Vincent,  don't  you  understand  ?  Don't  you  understand  that 
grandfather  is  easily  taken  with  a  name— with  the  sound  of  it — 
and  sometimes  he  confuses  one  with  another  ?  That  ballad  is 
not  about  Balloray ;  it  is  about  Binnorie ;  it  is '  The  bonnie  mill- 
dams  o'  Binnorie.'  Grandfather  forgets  at  times ;  and  he  is  used 
to  Balloray,  and  that  has  got  into  his  head  in  connection  with 
the  ballad.    I  thought  perhaps  yon  knew." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  he,  lightly,  for  he  did  not  attach  any  great 
importance  to  this  chance  confusion.  "  The  two  words  are  not 
unlike ;  I  quite  see  bow  one  might  take  the  place  of  the  other. 
Of  course  you  will  make  sure  that  he  puts  in  the  right  name 
when  he  somes  to  publish  the  volume." 

And  so  they  walked  op  and  down  the  almost  deserted  pier  in 
the  bright  sunlight,  looking  out  on  the  lapping  green  waters,  or 
up  to  the  terraced  yellow  houses  above  the  tall  cliffs.  Some- 
times, of  course,  the  four  of  them  came  together;  and  more  tJian 
once  the  horsey-looking  young  gentleman  insidiously  tried  to 
detach  Maisrie  from  her  chosen  companion,  and  tried  in  vain. 
At  last,  when  it  became  about  time  for  them  to  be  going  iheir 
several  ways  home,  he  made  a  bold  stroke. 


mm. 


SB4 


ITAHD   FAST,  OBAIO-BOTtTOH  I 


"  Come,  Mr.  Bethone,"  uid  be  as  they  were  saccesiively  pass- 
ing tbroagh  the  tamstile, "  I  want  you  and  Miss  Betl\une  to  take 
pity  on  a  poor  solitary  bachelor,  and  come  along  and  have  a  bit  of 
lunch  with  me  at  the  Old  Ship.  It  will  be  a  little  change  for  you, 
won't  it  t  and  we  can  have  a  private  room,  if  you  prefer  that." 

The  old  gentleman  seemed  inclined  to  close  with  this  offer, 
bnt  he  glanced  towards  Maisrie  for  her  acquiescence  first. 

"  Oh,  thank  yon,  Mr.  Olover,"  said  she,  promptly ;  "  but  I  have 
ever3rthing  arranged  at  our  lodgings,  and  we  must  not  disappoint 
our  landkdy.  Some  other  time,  perhaps,  thank  you !  Good- 
morning  !" 

Then,  the  moment  he  was  gone,  she  turned  to  her  companion. 

"  Vincent,  have  you  any  engagement  I  No  t  Then  will  you 
be  very  courageous  and  come  with  us  and  take  your  chance  t  I 
can  promise  you  a  biscuit  at  least." 

"  And  Fm  sure  I  don't  want  anything  more,"  said  he,  most 
gratefully ;  for  surely  she  was  trying  her  best  to  show  him  that 
she  distinguished  between  old  and  new  friends. 

And  then  again,  when  they  reached  the  rooms,  and  when  the 
three  of  them  were  seated  at  table,  she  waited  upon  him  with  a 
gentle  care  and  assiduity  that  were  almost  embarrassing.  He 
wished  the  wretched  things  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea;  why 
should  commonplace  food  and  drink  interfere  with  his  answer- 
ing Maisrie's  eyes,  or  thinking  of  her  overwhelming  kindness! 
As  for  old  Qeorge  Bethune,  the  sharp  air  and  the  sunlight  had 
^ven  him  an  admirable  appetite,  and  he  allowed  the  young  peo- 
ple to  amuse  themselves  with  little  courtesies  and  attentions  and 
protests  just  as  they  pleased.  Cheese  and  celery  were  solid  and 
substantial  things ;  ho  had  no  concern  about  a  drooping  eyelash, 
or  some  pretty,  persuasive  turn  of  speech. 

And  yet  he  was  not  unfriendly  towards  the  young  man. 

<<  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  to  the  theatre  this  evening,  Mais- 
rie r'  Vincent  asked.  "  It  is  '  The  Squire's  Daughter.*  I  know 
you've  seen  it  already,  but  I  could  go  a  dozen  times — ^twenty 
times — the  music  is  so  delightful  And  the  travelling  company 
is  said  to  be  quite  as  good  as  the  London  one.  Miss  Kate  Bur- 
goyne  has  changed  into  it,  you  know,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  she  sang  all  the  better  because  of  the  £3000  damages  that  Sir 
Percival  Miles  has  had  to  pay  her.  Shall  I  go  along  and  ae«  if 
I  can  get  a  box  f  •  , 


rip^fpiiiMnippiii 


niHi 


1—%^ 


roNl 

rere  soccevtively  pans- 
1  Miss  Betl\ane  to  take 
along  and  have  a  bit  of 
i  little  change  for  you, 
I,  if  you  prefer  that." 
I  close  with  thia  offer, 
iqaiescence  first 
womptly ;  "  but  I  have 
we  most  not  disappoint 
B,  thank  yoa !    Good- 

ned  to  her  companion. 

No  t    Then  will  you 

I  take  your  chance !    I 

'  more,"  said  he,  most 
best  to  show  him  that 
riends. 

e  rooms,  and  when  the 
aited  upon  him  with  a 
>8t  embamuising.  He 
ttom  of  the  sea;  why 
eirfere  with  his  answer- 
rerwhelming  kindness  f 
T  and  the  sunlight  had 
kllowed  the  young  peo- 
sies  and  attentions  and 
1  celery  were  solid  and 
Dut  a  drooping  eyelash, 
I. 

8  the  young  man. 
ktre  this  evening,  Mais- 
e*8  Daughter.'  I  know 
h  dozen  times — ^twenty 
the  travelling  company 
a  one.  Miss  Kate  Bor- 
ind  I  shouldn't  wonder 
C8000  damages  that  Sir 
U  I  go  along  and  see  if 


BTAMD  TABT,  CRAIO-ROTBTOKI 


101 


-  What  do  yon  say,  grandfather  F'  the  girl  asked. 

"Oh,  yes;  very  well— very  well,"  said  he,  in  his  lofty  way. 
"  A  little  idleness  more  or  less  is  not  of  much  account.  But  we 
must  begin  to  work  soon,  Maisrie ;  fresh  air  and  sunlight  are  all 
very  well,  but  we  must  begin  to  work  while  the  day  is  with  us, 
though  luckily  one  has  not  to  say  to  you  as  yet,  *Jam  U  premet 
nox,fabulaqiu  Manet,  et  domut  exilis  PluUmia.'' " 

"  Then  if  we  go  to  the  theatre,"  said  Maisrie,  "  Vincent  must 
come  in  here  for  a  little  while  on  his  way  home,  and  yon  and  he 
will  have  a  smoke  together,  and  it  will  be  quite  like  old  times." 

And  Vincent  looked  at  her  as  much  as  to  say, "  Maisrie,  don't 
make  me  too  ashamed ;  haven't  yon  forgiven  me  yet  for  that 
foolish  phrase*" 

The  afternoon  passed  quickly  enough ;  to  Vincent  every  mo- 
ment was  golden.  Then  in  the  evening  they  went  to  the  thea- 
tre, and  the  young  people  at  least  were  abundantly  charmed  with 
the  gay  costumes,  the  pretty  TUusic,  and  the  fun  and  merriment 
of  the  bright  little  operetta.  George  Bethune  seemed  less  in- 
terested. He  bat  well  back  in  the  box,  his  face  in  shadow ;  and 
although  his  eyes,  from  under  those  shaggy  eyebrows,  were  fixed 
on  the  stage,  it  was  in  an  absent  fashion,  as  if  he  were  thinking 
of  other  things.  And  indeed  he  was  thinking  of  far  other  things ; 
for  when,  after  the  piece  was  over,  those  three  set  out  to  walk 
home  through  the  dark  streets,  Maisrie  and  Vincent  could  hear 
the  old  man,  who  walked  somewhat  apart  from  them,  reciting  to 
himself,  and  that  in  a  proud  and  sustained  voice.  It  was  not  the 
frivolity  of  comic  opera  that  he  had  in  his  mind,  it  was  something 
of  finer  and  sterner  stuff.  As  they  crossed  by  the  Old  Steine, 
where  there  was  a  space  of  silence,  they  could  make  out  clearly 
what  this  was : 

"  Thy  faltb  and  troth  thoa  sail  na  get, 
And  our  tni%  love  sail  never  twin, 
Until  ye  tell  what  comes  of  women, 
I  wot,  who  die  in  strong  travailing. 

"  Tlieir  beds  arc  made  in  the  heavens  high, 
Down  at  the  foot  «f  our  good  Lord's  knee 
Wee!  set  about  w'l*  gillyflowers, 
I  wot  sweet  company  for  to  see.  ^ 

"  Oh,  cocks  are  crowing  a  merry  midnight, 
[  I  wot  the  wild-fowl  vh-  Coding  day ; 

llie  psalms  of  heaven  «'!!i  aocn  be  sang, 
And  I,  ere  now,  will  bs  missed  away." 


»  tiiSi*^^ 


"«p 


968 


■TAMD   WkVt,  OKAIO-BOTlTOiri 


There  was  •  carioasly  solemn  effect  about  this  Bolitaiy  voice 
here  in  the  darlc.  The  old  man  did  not  seem  to  care  whether  he 
was  overheard  or  not ;  it  was  entirely  to  himself  that  be  was 
repeating  the  lines  of  the  old  ballad.  And  thereafter  he  walked 
on  in  silence,  while  the  twojpvers,  busy  with  their  own  little 
world,  were  murmuring  nothings  to  each  other. 

But  Maisrie,  for  one,  was  soon  to  be  recalled  to  the  actualitios, 
and  even  grim  incongruities,  of  every-day  life.  When  they 
reached  their  lodgings  the  servant-girl  who  opened  the  door  to 
them  paused  for  •  second  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street 

"  Yes,  sir,  there  he  is,"  said  she. 
'   '*  Who  f '  George  Bethune  demanded. 

"  A  man  who  has  been  asking  for  you,  sir,  and  said  he  would 
wait." 

At  the  same  moment  thure  came  out  of  the  gloom  a  rather 
shabby-looking  person.  ;  y.  ^  .w?  ,  s  •• 

"  Mr.  Greorge  Bethune  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  name,"  the  old  man  answered,  impatiently ; 
probably  hn  suspected. 

"  Something  for  you,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  handing  a  folded 
piece  of  paper ;  and  therewith  he  left. 

It  was  ail  the  work  of  a  second ;  and  the  next  instant  they 
were  indoors  and  in  the  little  parlor ;  but  in  that  brief  space  of 
time  a  great  change  had  taken  place.  Indeed,  Maisrie's  morti- 
fication was  a  piteous  thing  to  see.  It  seemed  so  hard  she 
should  have  had  to  endure  this  humiliation  under  the  very  eyes 
of  her  lover,  She  would  not  look  his  way  at  all ;  she  busied 
herself  with  putting  things  on  the  table.  Her  downcast  face 
was  overwhelmed  with  confusion  and  shame.  For  surely  Vin- 
cent would  know  what  that  paper  was.  The  appearance  of 
the  man,  his  hanging  about,  her  grandfather's  angry  frown,  all 
pointed  plainly  enonghl  And  that  it  should  happen  at  the  end 
of  this  long  and  happy  day — this  day  of  reconciliation — when 
she  had  tried  so  assiduously  to  be  kind  to  him — when  be  had 
spoken  so  confidently  of  the  future  that  lay  before  them !  It 
was  as  if  some  cruel  Fate  had  interposed  to  say  to  him,  "  Now 
you  see  the /Surroundings  in  which  this  girl  has  lived,  and  do 
you  still  dream  of  making  her  your  wife  P 

And  perhaps  old  Qeorge  Bethune  noticed  this  shame  and  vexa- 
tion on  the  part  of  his  granddaughter,  and  may  have  wished  to 


iri 

It  this  solitary  roico 
n  to  care  whether  he 
himself  that  he  was 
thereafter  he  walked 
vith  their  own  little 
her. 

led  to  the  aotaalitios, 
r  life.  When  they 
I  opened  the  door  to 
id  down  the  street 


ir,  and  said  he  would 
f  the  gloom  a  rather 

iswcced,  impatiently ; 

gev,  handing  a  folded 

the  next  instant  they 

in  that  brief  space  of 

leed,  Maisrie's  morti- 

seemed  so  hard  she 

I  under  the  very  eyes 

ty  at  all;  she  busied 

Her  downcast  face 

ne.     For  surely  Vin- 

The  appearance  of 

ler's  angry  frown,  all 

Id  happen  at  the  end 

reconciliation — ^when 

)  him — when  he  had 

ay  before  them  I    It 

o  say  to  bim,  "  Now 

irl  has  lived,  and  do 

this  shame  and  vexa- 
may  have  wished  to 


•TAITD  raiT,  OBAIO-BOTITOir  I 


961 


divert  attention  from  it ;  at  all  events,  when  he  had  brewed  his 
toddy,  and  lit  his  pipe,  and  drawn  bis  chair  in  towards  the  fire, 
he  set  off  upon  one  of  his  monologues,  quite  in  the  old  garru- 
lous vein ;  and  he  was  as  friendly  towards  Vincent  as  though  this 
visit  bad  been  quite  anticipated.  Maisrie  sat  silent  at  a  abashed, 
and  Yiucent,  listening  vaguely,  thought  it  was  all  very  fine  to 
have  a  sanguine  and  happy-go-lucky  temperament,  but  that  he 
— that  is,  the  younger  man — would  be  glad  to  hare  this  beauti- 
ful and  pensive  creature  of  a  girl  removed  into  altogether  dif- 
ferent circumstances.  He  knew  why  she  was  ashamed  and 
downcast,  though,  to  be  sure,  he  said  to  himself  that  the  serving 
ot  a  writ  was  no  tremendous  catacl)  sm.  Such  little  incidents 
must  necessarily  occur  in  the  career  of  any  one  who  had  such 
an  arrogant  disdain  of  pounds  and  pence  as  her  grandfather 
professed.  But  that  Maisrie  should  have  to  suffer  humiliation, 
that  was  what  touched  him  to  the  quick.  He  looked  at  her,  at 
her  beautiful  and  wistful  eyes,  and  the  sensitive  lines  of  her 
profile  and  under-lip,  and  hie  heart  bled  for  her.  And  all  this, 
following  npon  her  outspoken  avowal  of  that  morning,  seemed 
to  demand  some  more  definite  and  immediate  action  on  his  part 
when  once  the  quiet  of  the  night  had  enabled  him  to  consider 
his  position. 

When  he  rose  to  leave,  he  asked  them  what  they  meant  to  do 
the  next  day.  But  Musrie  would  hardly  say  anything;  ?ho 
seemed  rather  to  wish  him  to  go,  so  distressed  and  disheartened 
she  was.  And  go  he  did,  presently,  but  he  bore  away  with  biro 
no  hurt  feeling  on  account  of  his  tacit  dismissal.  He  nnder- 
ntood  all  that,  and  he  understood  her.  And  aj  he  went  away 
home  through  the  dark,  he  began  to  recall  the  first  occasions  on 
which  he  had  seen  Maiuie  Bethnne  walking  in  Hyde  Park  with 
her  grabjfather,  and  the  curious  fancies  that  were  thee  formed 
in  his  own  mind,  that  here  apparently  was  a  boaatif  nl  and  seaai- 
tive  and  suffering  soul  that  ought  to  be  rescued  and  cheered  and 
comforted,  were  one  found  worthy  to  be  her  companion  and  her 
friend.  Her  friend! — she  had  confessed  he  was  something 
more  than  that  on  this  ':iiery  morning.  Her  lover,  then  f — well, 
her  lover  ought  to  be  her  champion  too,  if  only  the  hours  of  the 
night  would  lend  him  counsel 

17 


tS8 


•TAirO   rAST,  OKAIO-ROTtTOiri 


.xyc?> 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


OK   THI    BBIHK. 


Nat,  he  coold  tee  bat  the  one  clear  «nd  resolute  way  out  of 
all  these  perpleiities,  which  waa  that  he  should  forthwith,  and 
without  further  preamble,  marry  Maisrie  Bethnne ;  thereafter 
his  relatires  might  do  or  say  whatever  it  most  pleased  them  to 
do  or  say.  This  would  bo  his  answer  to  the  vague  but  persist- 
ent suspicions  of  Mrs.  ElliHon,  and  to  thjs  more  precise,  but  none 
the  less  preposterous,  accusations  of  his  father.  Then,  as  re- 
gards Maisrie  herself,  would  not  this  conclusive  act  banish  all 
those  dim  presentiments  and  alarms  with  which  she  seemed  to 
regard  the  future  t  And  if  her  present  circumstances  involved 
her  in  humiliation,  he  would  take  her  out  of  thene.  As  for  old 
George  Bethnne,  ought  he  not  to  welcome  this  guardianship  that 
would  succeed  his  own  f  The  happ.  sees  of  his  granddaughter 
seemed  to  be  his  first  care ;  and  here  was  a  stay  and  bulwark  for 
hor — a  protection  for  her  when  liis  own  should  be  withdrawn  in 
the  natural  course  of  things. 

The  solution  of  the  difficulty  seemed  reasonable  and  simple ; 
though  sometimes  his  arguments  would  suddenly  get  lost  in  a 
flood  of  wild  wonder  and  joy,  and  entrancing  visions  of  that 
pretty  canary-cage  ^^  meant  to  secure— down  by  Chelsea  way, 
perhaps,  or  up  about  Campden  Hill,  or  it  might  be  out  among 
some  suburban  gardens — would  interfere  with  the  cool  and  ac- 
oarate  representations  he  was  preparing  to  lay  before  his  friends. 
For  after  all,  simple  as  the  solution  appeared,  there  were  ways 
and  means  to  be  considered.  Vincent  was  now  about  to  dis- 
cover— nay,  he  already  perceived — that  for  a  young  man  to  be 
brought  up  without  any  definite  calling  meant  a  decided  crip- 
pling of  his  independence.  The  canary-cage,  charming  and 
idyllic  as  it  might  be,  would  cost  something,  even  if  he  went  as 
far  as  Shepherd's  Bush  or  Hammersmith ;  and  the  little  fortune 
that  had  been  left  him  did  not  produce  much  of  an  annual  in- 
come. Then,  again,  his  father :  would  not  the  great  Socialist 
(on  paper)  instantly  withdraw  the  handsome  allowance  he  had 


^f£*eo^; 


""^^jT^ 


0«l 


•  srf 


d  rewlute  way  oat  of 
ihoald  forthwith,  and 

Bethane;  thereafter 
most  pleased  thera  to 
the  vague  but  peraist- 
more  precise,  bat  uono 

father.  Theu,  aa  re- 
iclusive  act  banlah  all 
I  which  ahe  seemed  to 
sircumataaces  invoWed 
b  of  thew.  As  for  old 
9  this  guardianship  that 
I  of  his  granddaughter 
\  a  stay  and  bulwark  for 
should  be  withdrawn  in 

reasonable  and  simple; 

suddenly  get  loat  in  a 
■ancing  risions  of  that 
^own  by  Chelaea  way, 
it  might  be  out  among 
B  with  the  cool  and  ac- 
o  lay  before  his  friends, 
wared,  there  were  ways 
was  now  about  to  dis- 
for  a  young  man  to  be 
;  meant  a  decided  crlp- 
■ary-cage,  charming  and 
ling,  even  if  he  went  as 
I ;  and  the  little  fortune 
)  mach  of  an  annual  in- 

not  the  great  Socialist 
iaome  allowance  he  had 


MAVD  FAIT,  OBAICAOTBTOI 


"o^ 


hitherto  made,  on  hearing  that  his  son^nUmplatealUta/'jUr^^^     ^^^ 

dangerous  person,  that  low-bom  adveniwA,  that  creatuM&eli^ 

Hlums  t    For  Vincent  Harris  was  not  ginw''^disguising  thingb 

from  Limaelf.     He  knew  that  theae  were  tMyp((^i^ajf  which  hit, 

fnther  would  doubtleaa  apply  to  Maiarie  Bethane 

nny  other  phraaea  were  of  much  import :  tue  Capit 

nist  was  welcome  to  invent  and  aae  aa  nuny  aa  he  chose. 

his  opposition  to  this  ■'Carriage,  which  waa  almoat  to  be  counted 

on,  might  become  a  ve./  serious  affair  for  everybody  concerned. 

Neit  morning  Vincent  was  up  betimes,  and  at  an  early  hour 
he  went  along  to  the  Bedford  Hotel.  He  waa  told  that  Tjord 
Musselburgh  was  in  the  coffee-room,  and  thither  be  accordingly 
proceeded. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Fll  have  aome  breakfast,  thank  yon,"  said  he,  as  he 
took  a  scat  at  the  small  table.  "  Anything — anything.  The  fact 
is,  Musselburgh,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  if  you  can  give  me  a 
little  time.     Something  of  importance,  too — to  me  at  least." 

"  Lot  mo  tell  you  this,  Vin,  first  of  all,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two 
young  men,  with  a  Rmile.  *'  You'll  have  to  make  your  peace  with 
Mrs.  Ellison.  She  is  mortally  offended  at  the  notion  of  your  com- 
ing to  Brighton  and  going  to  a  hotel.  I  suppose  you  imagined 
she  didn't  know  you  had  come  down.     We  saw  you  yesterday." 

"  Where  ?"  said  Vincent,  quickly. 

"  In  the  Marine  Parade.  We  followed  you  some  little  way ; 
if  ydu  had  turned  round  you  would  have  seen  us." 

"  What  time  I" 

"  Why,  about  one^  should  think."      ■    ' 

"  Then — then  you  saw — " 

"  Yes,  we  saw — "  said  the  other. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  Vin's  eyes  were  fixed  on  his 
companion  with  a  curious  expectancy  and  prayer.  Had  thia 
friend  of  his,  if  he  were  a  friend  at  all,  no  approving  word  to 
sAy  about  Maisrie  f 

Well,  Lord  Musselburgh  was  an  exceedingly  good-natured 
}  oung  man ;  and  on  this  occasion  he  did  not  allow  a  selfish  dis- 
cretion to  get  the  better  of  him. 

" I  don't  know  that  I  intended  to  tell  you,"  said  he.  "Fact 
is,  Mrs.  Ellison  hinted  that  I'd  better  follow  her  example,  and 
have  nothing  to  aay  on  a  certain  sabjecl ;  bat  really^  Vin,  really — 
I  had  no  ide»— really — " 


960 


■TAWB    VAST,  OIIAIO-IIOrtTOVt 


"  Yoa  J— what  f"  Mid  Vincent,  rathor  breathlfiMlj. 

"  Weil,  to  be  candid  witli  you,  1  nerer  waa  so  aorpriaed  in  my 
It  To  I  Why,  you  remembur  that  afternoon  in  Piccadilly,  when  I 
flrat  aaw  thent  —  perhaps  I  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  tho 
girl — ahe  aeemod  a  alip  of  a  girl — pretty,  oh,  yea,  pretty  enough ; 
but  yesterday  —  wlien  I  saw  her  yoitorday  —  by  George  I  ahe'H 
grown  to  bo  one  of  tho  moat  beautiful  creaturea  I  ever  beheld  1 
Aovi  BO  diatingniahed-looking  —  and  apparently  so  unoonaoioua 
of  it,  too  I  Ag&in  and  again  I  noticed  people  half  turn  thoir 
heads  to  get  another  glimpse  of  her  as  she  went  by  —  and  no 
wonder.  Why,  really,  such  a  carriage — such  an  air  of  distinc- 
tion and  quiet  aelf-pouession,  for  all  she  looked  so  young  —  I 
never  was  so  surpriacd  in  all  my  life !  Oh,  n  most  beautiful 
creature  I — and  that  1  roust  aay  in  common  honesty,  whatever 
eomes  of  it" 

Nay,  the  very  incoherence  of  his  praiao  was  proof  of  its  sin- 
cerity; and  Vincent's  face  burned  with  pleaaure  and  prido. 
How  could  sweeter  words  have  been  poured  into  a  lover's  ears  I 

"Did  yon  chance  to  notice  her  hair t— -did  yonf  said  he, 
•agerly.  "Did  you  chance  to  sec  the  sunlight  on  itt  And — 
and  you  were  behind  her — you  must  have  seen  how  she  walked 
— tho  lightness  and  grace  of  her  stop.  Mind  you,  Musselburgh," 
he  went  on,  and  his  breakfast  received  but  scant  attention  now 
that  be  had  found  some  one  to  whom  he  could  talk  on  this  en- 
chanting and  all-ongrossing  theme.  "  A  light  and  gracefuT  stop 
means  far  more  than  mere  youth  and  health ;  it  means  a  perfect 
and  supple  figure  as  well.  Did  you  think  she  was  rather  palo  ?" 
he  asked — but  only  to  answer  his  own  question,  "  Yes,  I  dare 
say  you  might  think  she  was  rather  pale.  But  that  is  not  because 
she  is  delicate — oh,  dear,  no  1  not  in  the  least :  it  is  the  natural 
fineness  of  her  complexion ;  and  when  brisk  walking  or  a  cold 
wind  blowing  brings  color  into  her  cheeks,  then  that  is  all  the 
rarer  and  more  beautiful.  Of  course  you  couldn't  see  her  eyes 
at  all — she  doesn't  stare  at  people  in  the  streets ;  she  seems  to 
find  the  sea  more  interesting  when  we  are  walking  up  and  down 
■—but  they  are  the  clearest,  the  most  expressive  eyes  you  could 
imagine  I  She  hard\y  has  to  speak — she  has  only  to  look  I  I  do 
think  blue-gray  is  by  far  the  prettiest  color  of  eyes ;  they  vary 
80  much.  I've  seen  Maisrie  Bethune's  eyes  quite  distinctly  blue 
— that  is  when  she  is  very  strong  and  well  nnd  out  in  the  open 


mam 


OH  I 

BsthlfiMly.  "" 

as  BO  snrpriMd  in  my 

in  Piccadilly,  when  I 
nucl>  attflntion  to  ttto 
h,  yea,  pretty  enough ; 
y  —  by  George  I  sheV 
atarea  I  ever  behold  I 
rently  so  nnoonseioag 
tcople  half  turn  thoir 
ho  went  by  —  and  no 
luch  an  air  of  diatinc- 

lookod  »o  young  —  I 
Oh,  a  most  beautiful 
ion  honesty,  whatever 

I  was  proof  of  its  «in- 
1  pleasure  and  pride, 
■ed  into  a  lover's  ears  I 
— did  yonf  said  he, 
inlight  on  it!  And — 
)  seen  how  sho  walked 
nd  you,  Musaelburgh," 
It  scant  attention  now 
could  tolk  on  this  cn- 
light  and  graceful  stop 
Ith ;  it  means  a  perfect 

she  was  rather  palo  f ' 
lestion.  **  Yes,  1  dare 
But  that  IS  not  because 
east:  it  is  the  natural 
risk  walking  or  a  cold 
ks,  then  that  is  all  tho 
I  couldn't  see  her  eyes 

streets ;  she  seems  to 
)  walking  up  and  down 
ressive  eyes  you  could 
las  only  to  look  I    I  do 

or  of  eyes ;  they  vary 
BS  quite  distinctly  blue 
ill  And  out  in  the  open 


STAin  win,  ORAio-aoTSTom 


961 


air.  I  don't  suppose  it  possible  that  any  reflection  from  the  skj 
or  sea  can  affect  the  color  of  th«  eyes ;  it  most  be  simply  that 
hIiu  is  in  the  fresh  air,  and  stimulated  with  exercise  and  happy — " 
llo  pauNod  for  a  second.    "  Is  there  anything  so  very  amusing  P' 

"  '^o  te!.  yon  the  truth,  Yin,"  bis  companion  admitted, "  I  was 
thinking  that  when  you  came  in  yon  announced  you  had  some- 
thing of  importance  to  say." 

"  Instead  of  which  I  have  been  talking  about  Miss  Bethune," 
Vincent  said,  without  taking  any  ofTonco.  "  But  who  began  I  I 
thought  it  was  you  wf  o  introduced  the  subject — and  yoa  Memsd 
interested  in  her  appearance." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course,  of  course,"  the  young  nobleman  said, 
^ood-naturcdly.  "  I  bog  your  pardon.  And  i  undentand  how 
the  subject  may  be  of  importance  to  you." 

"  Well,  yes,  it  is,"  said  Vincent,  calmly.  "  For  I  propose  to 
marry  Miss  Bethune,  and  at  onco,  if  she  will  consent." 

Musselburgh  looked  up  quickly,  and  his  face  was  grave  enough 
now. 

"  You  don't  moan  that,  Vin  f ' 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  do  mean,"  the  young  man  said. 

"I  thou(;ht — I  had  fancied  —  that  certain  things  had  been 
found  out,"  his  friend  stammeredi  and  then  stopped ;  for  it  was 
a  hazardous  topic.  /  fe4'<^«»  ihi'.-.i  *»•  • 

"  Oh,  you  have  been  told,  too  P  Vincent  said,  with  a  careless 
disdain.  "  Well,  when  I  hoard  those  charges  brought  against 
Miss  Bethuno's  grandfather,  I  did  not  choose  to  answer  them ; 
but  speaking  about  him  to  you  is  another  thing,  and  I  may  say 
to  you,  once  for  all,  that  more  preposterous  trash  was  never  in- 
vented. I  won't  deny,"  he  continued,  with  a  perfect  simple 
frankness,  <'  that  there  are  one  or  two  things  about  Mr.  Bethune 
that  I  cannot  quite  eipUin — that  I  rather  shut  my  eyes  to ;  and 
perhaps  there  are  one  or  two  things  that  one  might  wish  altered, 
for  who  in  perfect?  But  the  idea  that  this  old  man,  with  his 
almost  obtrusively  ragged  individuality,  his  independence,  his 
self-will  and  pride,  should  be  a  scheming  impostor  and  swindler 
~it  is  too  absurd  I  To  my  mind — and  I  think  I  know  him 
pretty  intimately — he  appears  to  be  one  of  the  finest  and  grand- 
est characters  it  is  possible  to  imagine ;  a  personality  yoa  could 
never  forget,  once  yoa  had  learned  to  know  him  even  a  little ; 
and  that  this  man,  of  all  men,  shoald  be  suspected  of  being  a 


'  '.-.jH^^vA^ii^it^^  . 


aa 


aTAlTD   FAST,  0EAI0-R0T8T0H I 


fawning  and  wheedling  writer  of  begging -letters  —  it  is  too 
laughable  I  I  admit  that  he  has  little  or  no  money,  if  that  is  a 
crime ;  they  live  in  straitened  circumstances,  no  doubt  And  of 
course  there  are  many  unpleasant  things  connected  with  poverty 
that  one  would  rather  hide  from  the  eyes  of  a  young  lady,  and 
that  can't  well  be  hidden ;  though  I  don't  know  that  her  nature, 
if  she  has  a  lino  and  noble  nature,  need  suffer  from  that  For 
example,  it  isn't  nice  for  her  to  see  her  grandfather  served  with 
a  writ ;  but  many  excellent  people  have  been  served  with  writs ; 
it  doesn't  follow  that  Mr.  Bethune  must  be  a  thief  because  he 
has  no  money,  or  perhaps  because  he  has  been  negligent  about 
some  debt  or  other.  But  even  supposing  that  he  was  a  ques- 
tionable person — even  supposing  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
using  doubtful  means  to  supplement  his  precarious  income,  isn't 
that  all  the  greater  reason  why  such  a  girl  should  be  taken  away 
from  such  circumstances  f" 

Lord  Musselburgh  did  not  reply  to  this  question.  He  had 
heard  from  Mrs.  Ellison  that  the  granddaughter  was  suspected, 
or  more  than  suspected,  of  being  an  accomplice ;  and  although, 
of  course,  he  could  not  in  the  least  r  y  whether  there  was  any 
truth  in  this  allegation,  he  deemed  it  wiser  to  hold  his  tongue. 

**  Now  yon  may  put  all  that  aside,"  Vincent  went  on.  "  That 
is  all  rubbish  and  trash — a  pack  of  old  wives'  stories.  And  ';rhat 
I  want  of  you,  Musselburgh,  is  to  give  me  your  honest  opinion 
on  a  certain  point.  I  ask  for  your  advice.  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  what  you  think  would  happen  in  a  possible  case.  And  the 
main  question  is  this:  assuming  that  I  could  persuade  Miss 
Bethune  to  marry  me  at  once,  and  assuming  also  that  her  grand- 
father apf  "vved ;  when  the  marriage  had  actually  taken  place, 
what  wou'  I  my  relatives  say  ?  Or,  rather,  that  is  not  the  ques- 
tion :  the  question  is,  What  would  they  do  ?  I  know  what  they 
would  ss; .  They  would  be  wild  enough.  Their  heads  are  full  of 
these  foolish  fancies  and  suspicions ;  and,  besides  that,  I  gather 
that  they  want  me  to  marry  some  noble  damsel  whose  family 
would  have  political  influence.  Yes,  they  would  be  wild  enough, 
no  doubt ;  but  when  they  found  the  thing  actually  settled,  what 
would  they  do  f  Would  my  father  make  a  deadly  quarrel  of  it 
and  cut  me  off  with  a  shilling,  like  something  out  of  a  play !  or 
would  he  exercise  a  little  common-sense,  and  make  the  best  of 
it,  seeing  the  thing  was  done  I"  .    .    - 


-letters  —  it  is  too 
money,  if  that  is  a 
,  no  doubt  And  of 
nected  with  poverty 
f  a  young  lady,  and 
now  that  her  nature, 
fer  from  that  For 
idfather  served  with 
1  served  with  writs ; 
)  a  thief  because  he 
teen  negligent  about 
that  he  was  a  ques- 
was  in  the  habit  of 
carious  income,  isn't 
lioald  he  taken  away 

question.  He  had 
;htcr  was  suspected, 
plice ;  and  although, 
lether  there  was  any 
M  hold  his  tongue, 
mt  went  on.  "  That 
i"  stories.  And  <Arhat 
your  honest  opinion 
I  want  you  to  tell 
>ible  case.  And  the 
ould  persuade  Miss 
also  that  her  grand- 
ictually  taken  place, 
;hat  is  not  the  qnes- 
I  know  what  they 
leir  heads  are  full  of 
lesides  that,  I  gather 
amsel  whose  family 
ould  be  wild  enough, 
«tualiy  settled,  what 
deadly  quarrel  of  it 
Qg  out  of  a  play  t  or 
id  make  th&  best  of 


STAND   FAST,  OBAIO-ROTSTOIT I 


MS 


"Really,"  said  Musselburgh,  who  seemed  more  concerned 
than  one  might  have  expected  from  his  Lalf-cynical,  half-care- 
less temperament,  "  yon  ask  me  what  I  can't  answer.  And 
giving  advice  is  a  perilous  business.  All  I  can  say  is  this,  Vin : 
you  seem  to  me  to  have  got  into  a  devilish  awkward  position^ 
and  I  wish  to  goodness  you  were  out  of  it" 

"You  think  I  regret  anything  that  has  happened?"  Vincent 
said.  "  Not  1 1  I  would  not  go  back— not  for  all  the  world. 
But  as  for  this  monetary  difficulty,  there  it  is,  and  it  has  to  be 
faced.  You  see,  I  have  been  brought  up  to  do  nothing,  and  Con- 
sequently I  am  in  a  measnre  dependent  on  my  father.  My  own 
little  income  doesn't  amount  to  much.  Then,  again,  if  I  were  to 
marry  Maisrie  Bethune,  I  should  have  to  leave  her  grandfather 
whatever  small  fund  they  have.  I  don't  quite  undersUnd  about 
it;  anyhow,  I  couldn't  take  that  away,  for  I  imagine  the  old 
gentleman's  earnings  from  newspaper  work  are  not  very  sub- 
stantial or  regular.  Now,  what  do  you  think  my  father  would 
do!" 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  the  simplest  thing  to  go  and  ask  him ^to  go 

and  ask  hin:  now  ?"  said  Lord  Musselburgh,  who  clearly  did  not 
wish  to  assume  any  responsibility  in  this  serious  matter. 

"  I  can  tell  myself  what  ho  would  say  now,"  Vincent  made 
answer ;  "  the  question  is  what  he  would  say  then." 

"  After  the  marriage  ?" 

"Yes." 

Uis  companion  across  the  little  table  hesitated  for  a  second  or 

two. 

"  You  see,  Vin,  it  isn't  only  in  plays  that  fathers  get  angry ; 
unfortunatelj,  it  sometimes  happens  in  real  life,  and  occasionally 
they  get  very  angry  indeed.  According  to  your  own  showing, 
if  your  father  refused  to  acknowledge  this  marriage,  if  he  de- 
clared he  would  have  nothing  further  to  do  with  you,  you  would 
find  yourself  in  rather  desperate  straits.  Why  should  you,  with 
your  eyes  open,  walk  into  any  such  straits  ?  You  know  what  may 
happen.  And  then,  with  a  young  wife,  with  next  to  no  resources, 
what  would  you  do  f  Let  us  come  to  one  definite  and  immediate 
thing— that  I  hope  is  not  far  off  now— who  would  pay  yonr  elec- 
tion expenses  at  Mendover  f" 
"  You  yourself,  Musselbargh,  in  the  interests  of  the  party !" 
"  I  am  glad  you  can  make  a  jest  of  the  situation,  Viti." 


n 


tM 


STAMO   FAST,  OBAIO<BOTnOK  t 


**  No,  really,  I  don't,"  Vincent  said,  more  aerioasly.  "  Bat  if  I 
were  to  ask  for  my  father's  consent  I  should  not  get  it,  I  know 
that  quite  well,  and  meanwhile  this  girl  is  snppos^Hl  to  be— oh, 
I  need  not  name  the  things  1  You  don't  understand  I  She  is 
my  dearest  in  all  the  world.  How  can  I  stand  by  and  allow  these 
base  accusations  to  be  brought  against  her  without  protest? 
And  that  would  be  my  protest !  That  would  show  them  ^hat 
I  thought  of  their  mean  suspicions  and  their  preposterous 
charges." 
*'  And  thereafter  f"  said  Lord  Musselburgh. 
"  Thereafter  t  Well,  as  I  saf ,  my  father  might  show  some 
commouHsense  and  accept  the  thing,  t  leing  it  was  done.  I  can 
tell  you  it  isn't  very  pleasant  to  find  myself  so  dependent  on  any 
other  human  being's  reasonableness.  I  haven't  been  used  to  it 
I  dare  say  I  have  been  spoiled — things  made  too  easy  for  mc. 
And  now  when  I  look  round  and  wonder  what  I  could  turn  to,  I 
suppose  I  am  simply  in  the  position  of  a  thousand  others  who 
haven't  had  any  special  training.  The  few  articles  I  have  writ- 
ten have  paid  me  well  enough,  but  at  present  I  don't  see  anything 
substantial  and  permanent  in  that  direction.  If  you  were  in  o£ice 
I  should  ask  you  for  a  private  secretaryship." 
**  Why  not  usk  some  one  who  is  in  oflSce  t" 
"  I  could  not  change  my  coat  quite  so  quickly  as  that" 
"  Ah,  you  haven't  bad  much  experience  in  practical  politics," 
Lord  Musselburgh  observed.  "Well,  now,  Yin,  look  here;  it  seems 
to  me  yon  are  on  the  brink  of  a  tremendous  catastrophe.  You 
have  asked  for  my  advice :  I  will  give  it  you  frankly.  For  good- 
ness sakb,  don't  marry  that  girl  1  She  may  be  everything  you 
say,  her  grandfather  may  bo  everything  you  say,  but  don't  do 
anything  rash,  don't  do  anything  irrevocable.  And  consider 
this :  if  your  relations  should  Ijoik  on  such  a  marriage  with  dis- 
favor, it  is  in  your  own  interest ;  it  is  no  selfish  wish  on  their 
part  that  you  should  marry  well,  marry  in  your  own  sphere, 
marry  some  one  who  would  do  you  credit  and  be  s  fit  compan- 
ion for  you.  Mind  you,  I  say  nothing  against  Miss  Bethnne, 
nothing ;  I  would  not  even  if  I  could.  I  am  not  such  a  fool,  for 
I  should  simply  anger  you  without  convincing  you ;  bat  just 
consider  for  a  moment  what  her  experiences  must  have  been. 
Yoa  know  what  Mrs.  Ellison  so  frequently  talks  about — the  sen- 
timental fallacy  of  snp^sing  that  there  is  anything  intrinsically 


laa 


m^m 


wriouBly.  •♦But  if  I 
d  not  get  it,  I  know 
BuppoB'jd  to  be— oh, 
anderstandl  She  is 
id  by  and  allow  these 
ber  without  protest! 
•uld  show  them  ^hat 
I  their  preposterous 

ler  might  sbow  aomo 
g  it  was  done.     I  can 
f  so  dependent  on  any 
iven't  been  used  to  it. 
aade  too  easy  for  mc. 
irhat  I  eould  turn  to,  I 
k  thousand  otbers  who 
w  articles  I  haye  writ- 
nt  I  don't  see  anything 
1.   If  you  were  in  oCce 
lip." 
pel"      • 

luickly  as  that" 
0  in  practical  politics," 
Vin,look  here;  it  seems 
ous  catastrophe.     You 
io\x  frankly.  For  good- 
nay  be  everything  you 
you  say,  but  don't  do 
iKsable.     And  consider 
cb  a  marriage  witb  dis- 
lo  selfish  wish  on  their 
y  in  your  own  sphere, 
it  and  be  »  fit  compan- 
against  Miss  Bethnne, 
am  not  such  a  fool,  for 
ivincing  you ;  but  just 
iences  must  bare  been, 
y  talks  about — ^the  sen- 
is  anything  intrinsically 


8TAKD   VAST,  OBAIO-ROTSTOR I 


306 


noble  or  beautiful  about  poverty.  Tm  afraid  she's  right.  I  am 
afraid  that  poverty  is  altogether  a  debasing  and  brutalising 
thing,  destroying  self-respect,  stunting  the  mind  as  well  as  the 

"  Yes,"  said  Vin  Harris,  rather  scornfully, «'  I  am  quite  aware 
that  is  the  opinion  of  poverty  held  by  the  rich.  They  show  it. 
They  profess  to  believe  what  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  says 
about  the  kingdom  of  heaven  being  reserved  for  the  poor,  but 
catch  any  single  man-jack  of  them  putting  aside  his  riches  in 
order  to  secure  that  other  inheritance  I  Not  much  I  He  prefers 
the  kingdom  he  has  got — in  consols." 

"  I  was  only  wondering,"  Musselburgh  said,  with  a  flltle  hesi- 
tation, "  what  influence  those  —  those  associations  might  have 
had  on  Miss  Bethune  herself..  Ifot  the^best  training  for  a  young 
girl,  perhaps."  > t    . ,;  ...aZ  . ^  +, 

"  If  she  had  been  brought  up  in  a  thieves'  den,"  said  Vincent, 
hotly, "  she  would  have  remained  the  pure  and  beautif ul-souled 
creature  that  she  is  now.  But  I  see  there  is  no  use  talking.  I 
have  asked  for  your  advice,  for  your  opinion,  and  you  have  given 
it  to  me.     I  thank  you,  and  there's  an  end." 

He  rose.    But  his  friend  also  rose  at  the  same  moment. 

"  No,  no,  Vin,  you're  not  going  to  quarrel  with  me.  Come 
into  the  smoking-room,  and  we'll  have  a  cigarette." 

Nor  did  he  wish  to  quarrel.  They  left  the  coffee-room  to- 
gether. But  as  luck  would  have  it,  in  crossing  the  hall  he 
chanced  to  look  towards  the  front-door,  and  behold  I  all  the 
outer  world  was  shining  in  clear  sunlight.  It  suddenly  occurred 
to  this  young  man  that  he  had  been  sitting  plunged  in  gloom, 
listening  to  coward  counsels,  regarding  the  future  as  something 
dark,  while  there  —  out  there— -the  golden  pavements,  and  the 
far-shimmering  sea,  and  the  wide  white  skies  spoke  only  of  hope, 
and  seemed  to  say  that  Maisrie  would  soon  be  coming  along, 
proud  and  tall  and  sweet  Why,  it  was  to  her  that  he  ought  to 
have  appealed,  not  to  any  timorous,  vacillating  temporizer ;  it  was 
her  hands  he  ought  to  have  taken  and  held,  that  he  might  read 
the  future  in  her  true  eyes.  And  so,  with  some  brief  words  of 
apology  and  thanks,  he  left  Lord  Musselburgh,  and  made  his 
way  into  the  outer  air;  this  was  to  breathe  more  freely,  this 
was  to  have  the  natural  courage  of  youth  mounting  into  the 
brain. 
M 


...;• 


266 


BTAITD   VAST,  OBAIO-HOTSTOH I 


He  walked  away  along  the  Eaog's  Road ;  and  nnconsciotuly 
to  himself  he  held  his  head  erect,  as  if  in  imitation  of  the  stout- 
hearted old  man  who,  despite  his  threescore  years  and  ten,  conld 
still  bear  himself  so  bravely  in  face  of  all  the  world.  Moreover, 
there  were  some  lines  in  one  of  Maisrie's  songs  haunting  him ; 
but  not  in  any  sad  way ;  nay,  he  found  himself  dwelling  on  the 
r's,  as  if  to  recall  her  soft  pronunciation : 


"  Elle  fit  un'  rencontre 

.■^•^M 

h'  ■• 

De  trente  matelots,          '*  " 

'  .'  .'Vi 

ri!-";->  ' 

De  trente  matelots,         '" ' ' 

'w'M 

Bur  le  bord  de  1  lie. 

■"■ 

-•>.:,^ 

He  had  thrust  aside  those  pusillanimous  counsels ;  out  here  was 
the  sunlight  and  the  fresh-blowing  wind ;  his  soul  felt  freer.  This 
was  the  kind  of  morning  to  bring  a  touch  of  crimson  to  the 
transparent  pallor  of  her  cheek.  Her  tec  i  would  glisten  when 
she  laughed ;  her  graceful  step  would  be  lighter,  more  buoyant 
than  ever.  Sursum  corda  !  Nay,  he  could  have  found  it  in  his 
heart  to  adopt  the  proud-sounding  "  Stand  fast,  Craig-Royston !" 
— if  only  to  fling  it  back  in  the  face  of  those  who  had  brought 
those  monstrous  accusations. 

His  long  and  swinging  stride  soon  carried  him  to  the  house 
in  Ocrman  Place,  where  he  found  (George  Bethune  and  his  grand- 
daughter just  making  ready  to  come  out. 

"  This  will  not  do,  Maisrie,"  said  old  Cleorge  Bethune,  in  his 
gay,  emphatic  fashion.  "  Too  much  idleness — ^too  much  idle- 
ness. Fresh  air  is  all  very  well,  but  we  must  not  become  its 
slaves.  Remember  Horace's  warning, '  Tu,  niti  ventit  debet  ludi- 
iriutn  cave.^ " 

<<  Why,  who  could  keep  at  work  on  a  morning  like  this  t"  Vin- 
cent protest'id.  "  A  west  wind  and  brilliant  sunlight  are  not 
so  common  in  December.  It  makes  it  hard  for  mo  that  I've  to 
go  away  to-morrow." 

"Are  you  going  away  to-morrow,  Vincent f  asked  Maisrie, 
regarding  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  I  have  to  go  down  to  Mendover  on  Thurs- 
day to  deliver  a  sort  of  address — a  lecture — and  I've  only  got 
the  heads  and  divisions  sketched  out  as  yet  I  wish  I  could 
escape  it  altogether ;  but  I  dare  not  play  any  tricks  at  present 
I'm  on  my  best  behavior.  And  this  time,  at  least,  I  don't  mean 
to  drag  Lord  Musselburgh  down  with  me ;  I'm  going  alone." 


wummmmmfmm 


mimimmftm 


II 

and  unconscioiwly 
itatioD  of  the  rtoat- 
jrears  and  ten,  could 
e  world.  Moreorer, 
>ngs  haunting  him ; 
self  dwelling  on  the 


insels ;  out  here  was 
i  soul  felt  freer.  This 
•h  of  crimson  to  the 
I  would  glisten  when 
ighter,more  buoyant 
I  have  found  it  in  his 
F88t,Craig-Roy8ton!" 
jso  who  had  brought 

led  him  to  the  house 
ethune  and  his  grand- 

)orge  Bethune,  in  his 
aess — ^too  much  idle- 
must  not  become  its 
,  nt«*  vmtit  debet  ludi- 

)ming  like  this  rVin- 
liant  sunlight  are  not 
rd  for  me  that  I've  to 

centf  asked  Maisrie, 

o  Mendover  on  Thurs- 
re— and  I've  only  got 
yet  I  wish  I  could 
any  tricks  at  present 
,  at  least,  I  don't  mean 
;  I'm  going  alone." 


STAVO   VAST,  OBAIChROTSTOm 


267 


"  And  after  that  yon  return  to  London  f '  she  asked. 

He  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  A  single  word  of  encourage- 
ment from  either  of  them,  and  he  would  at  once  and  gladly  hara 
promised  to  come  back  to  Brighton  at  the  earliest  possible  mo- 
ment But  he  had  not  forgotten  the  implied  understanding  on 
which  Maisrie  and  her  grandfather  had  come  away  from  their 
lodgings  in  Mayfair. 

"  Yes,  to  London,"  he  replied,  vaguely.  "  But  I  have  no  defi- 
nite plans  at  present  I  dare  say  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Ellison,  will  want 
me  to  come  down  here  at  Christmas." 

When  they  were  outside,  and  had  gone  on  to  the  Parade,  he 
besought  his  two  companions,  instead  of  taking  their  accustomed 
stroll  into  the  town,  to  come  away  out  into  the  country.  The 
Downs,  he  said,  would  be  looking  very  cheerful  on  so  pleasant  a 
morning ;  and  of  course  it  mattered  little  to  them  whither  they 
went  TLoy  acceded  at  once ;  and  by-and-by  they  had  left  the 
wide  thoroughfare  and  the  houses  behind  them,  and  were  walking 
along  the  soft  turf,  alone  with  the  clifEs  and  the  sea  and  the 
smooth,  faintly-colored  uplands.  The  springtime  was  not  yet ; 
but  there  were  hues  of  green  and  red  in  tiiose  far-stretching 
breadths  of  soil,  and  the  sky  was  of  a  cloudless  blue. 

And  how  strange  it  was  that  out  here  in  the  open,  in  the  clear 
snnlight,  those  dark  imaginings  of  the  Private  Inquiry  Offices 
seemed  to  fall  helplessly  away  from  these  two  friends  of  his,  and 
they  themselves  stood  sharply  defined,  just  as  he  had  always 
known  them — ^the  two  solitary  and  striking  figures  that  his  fancy 
had  invested  with  so  pathetic  an  interest  Mentally  he  ad- 
dressed Lord  Musselburgh :  "  Come  and  see  them  here,  in  the 
white  Vigh'i  of  day,  and  ask  yourself  whether  yon  can  believe  in 
those  midnight  things  you  have  hoard  of  them.  Look  at  this 
girl :  yon  say  yourself  she  is  of  extraordinary  beauty ;  but  is 
there  not  a  still  stranger  fascination !  is  there  not  something  that 
wins  the  heart  to  sympathy  and  pity  and  respect  f  Look  at  the 
pensive  character  of  her  mouth ;  look  at  the  strange  resignation 
in  the  beautiful  eyes.  Perhaps  her  life  has  not  been  altogether 
too  happy,  and  is  that  to  be  brought  as  a  charge  against  her ! 
Then  this  old  man :  look  at  his  proud  bearing ;  look  at  the  reso- 
lute set  of  his  head,  his  stnught  glance,  the  courage  of  his  firm 
month.  Has  he  the  appearance,  the  demeanor  of  a  sharper— of 
a  plausible  and  specious  thief  f    At  this  moment,  at  all  events, 


mm 


268 


STAND   VAST,  OiUIO-JMTBTOIl  I 


it  did  not  Beem  as  if  Qeotgo  Betbnne's  mind  was  set  upon  any 
swindling  scheme.  As  he  marched  along,  with  head  erect,  and 
with  eyes  fixed  absently  on  the  far  horizon,  he  wns  reciting  to 
himself,  in  sonorous  tones,  the  metrical  version  of  the  Hun- 
dredth Ftalm: 

:xiii&  a^Af'^r  ** '0 enter  tben  His  gmtes  with  vnk^iK'ii-^M^S&^f'-fiii^'i 
Approach  with  joy  His  courts  onto; 

Pnise,  laud,  and  bless  His  name  always, 
For  it  is  seemly  so  to  do.  '     ^ 

For  why  ?   The  Lord  our  God  is  good,    - 1  '^  '  *  'iW'?;*!#  v 
His  mercy  is  forever  sure;  si *•■(',.>  'H'M: ■:•%]!. -ittt^ 

Bis  truth  at  all  times  firmly  stood,  '.  vjij- k i^ti^^'  = 

^miUi'e imik : -And  shall  from  age  to  age  endure.* ".^  :&.f^^swR^ 
No  donbt  it  was  some  reminiscence  of  his  youthful  days — ^per- 
haps a  Saturday  night's  task — that  had  lain  dormant  in  his  mem- 
ory for  sixty  years  or  more. 

The  two  young  folk  were  mostly  silent;  they  had  plenty  to 
think  about,  especially  in  view  of  Vincent's  departure  on  the 
morrow.  As  f  r  him,  his  one  consuming  desire  wus  to  make 
sure  of  Maisrie,  now  that  she  had  disclosed  her  heart  to  him. 
He  wished  for  some  closer  bond,  some  securer  tie,  so  that,  what- 
ever might  happen,  Maisrie  should  not  be  taken  away  from  him ; 
for  he  seemed  to  know,  as  if  by  some  inscrutable  instinct,  that 
a  crisis  in  his  life  was  approaching.  And  it  was  not  enough  that 
her  eyes  had  spoken,  that  she  had  given  him  the  sandal-wood 
necklace,  that  she  had  striven  with  an  almost  pathetic  humility 
to  show  her  affection  and  esteem ;  he  wished  for  some  clearer 
assurance  with  regu^  to  the  future.  Those  people  in  the  barV- 
gronnd  who  had  pieeed  together  that  malignant  story,  were  they 
not  capable  of  further  and  more  deadly  mischief!  He  had 
affected  to  scorn  them  as  mere  idle  and  intermeddling  fools ;  but 
they  might  become  still  more  aggressive  —  enemies  striking  at 
bira  and  at  bis  heart's  desire  from  the  dim  phantom  world  that 
enshrouded  them.  Anyhow,  he  meant  to  act  now  on  his  own 
discretion.  Lord  Mosselburgh's  advice  was,  no  doubt,  worldly- 
wise  enough  and  safe,  bnt  it  was  valueless  in  these  present  cir- 
cumstances. Vincent  felt  that  his  life  was  his  own^  and  that  the 
moment  had  come  when  he  must  shape  it  towards  a  certain  end, 
for  good  or  ill,  as  the  years  might  show. 

After  a  pretty  long  walk  .ilong  the  cliffs  they  returned  to  the 
town— (on  the  Pftrade  they  met  Sherry,  who  cheerfully  informed 


mm 


ind  was  set  npon  any 
with  head  erect,  and 
n,  he  wns  reciting  to 
version  of  the  ^nn- 


le  always, 
Bgood, 


wd,      '>  •  ->'' 
Bdure.'" 

I  yoathful  days— per- 
k  dormant  in  his  mem- 

;  they  had  plenty  to 
it's  departure  on  the 
g  desire  wus  to  make 
Bed  her  heart  to  him. 
urer  tie,  so  that,  what- 
taken  away  from  him ; 
icratable  instinct,  that 
it  was  not  enough  that 
him  the  sandal-wood 
nost  pathetic  hamility 
shed  for  some  clearer 
ISO  people  in  the  barV- 
ignant  story,  were  they 
Y  mischief!  He  had 
ermeddling  fools ;  but 
—  enemies  striking  at 
m  phantom  world  that 
;o  act  now  on  his  own 
ras,  no  doabt,  worldly- 
»  in^  these  present  cir- 
B  his  own,  and  that  the 
,  towards  a  certain  end, 

Es  they  returned  to  the 
'ho  cheerfully  informed 


STAND   VASV,  OAAIO-BOTITOir  t 

them  that  be  was  on  the  point  of  starting  for  Monte  Carlo,  and 
hoped  they  would  wish  him  gootfl-luok) — and  Vincent  was  easily 
persuaded  by  Maisrie  to  share  their  modest  luncheon  with  them. 
Thereafter,  when  tobacco  was  produced,  she  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused for  a  little  while,  as  she  had  some  sewing  to  do  in  her  own 
room ;  and  thus  it  was  that  Vincent,  quite  suddenly  and  unexpect- 
edly, found  himself  presented  with  an  opportunity  of  approach- 
ing the  old  man  on  the  all-important  theme.  But  on  this  occa- 
sion he  was  much  more  precise  and  ui^nt  in  his  prayer;  for 
he  had  thought  the  whole  matter  clearly  out  through  many  a 
sleepless  hour,  and  his  plans  lay  fixed  and  definite  before  him. 

"  You  yourself,"  he  went  on,  "  have  often  hinted  that  your 
future  movements  were  uncertain.  You  might  have  to  go  away, 
and — and  then — I  don't  say  that  either  Maisrie  or  I  would  forget 
—only  I  am  afraid  of  absence.  There  appear  to  be  certain  peo- 
ple who  don't  wish  yon  well ;  there  might  be  more  stories.  Who 
can  tell  what  might  not  happen  t  Indeed,"  said  he,  regarding 
the  old  man  a  little  anxiously, "  I  have  been  thinking  that — that 
if  Maisrie  would  consent — our  getting  married  at  once  would  be 
the  safest  and  surest  tie  of  all  I  have  not  spoken  of  it  to  her ; 
I  thought  I  would  put  it  before  yon  first" 

Here  he  paused  in  something  of  anxious  uncertainty. 

"  Married  at  once  1"  Greorgo  Bethune  repeated,  slowly.  There 
was  no  expression  of  surprise  or  resentment ;  the  old  man  waited 
calmly  and  courteously  for  further  elucidation  of  these  plans; 
his  eyes  were  observant  and  attentive,  but  quite  inscrutable. 

"  And  I  want  to  show  you  how  I  am  situated,"  Vincent  went 
on,  but  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  that  perfectly  impassive 
demeanor.  "  I  hope  there  is  no  need  to  conceal  anything — in- 
deed, I  should  think  you  were  pretty  well  acquainted  with  my 
circumstances  by  this  time.  You  know  my  father  is  a  rich  man. 
I  am  his  only  son,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  inherit  his  fortune.  I 
have  a  little  money  of  my  own — not  much  of  an  annual  income, 
to  be  sure;  and  I  have  some  friends  who  would  help  me  if  the 
worst  came  to  the  worst,  but  I  don't  see  how  that  necessity  should 
arise.  For  myself,  I  have  unfortunately  been  brought  up  to  no 
profession ;  I  was  trained  for  public  life — ^for  politics,  if  for  any- 
thing ;  it  has  never  been  considered  necessary  that  I  should  learn 
some  method  of  making  my  own  living.  This  is  a  misfortune — 
I  can  see  thai  now ;  but  at  least  I  have  been  trying  to  do  some- 


# 


970 


aTAim  VAM,  OEAIO-ROTnOiri 


thing  of  late,  and  I  have  got  some  encouragement  If  there  were 
any  need,  I  fancy  I  could  earn  a  modest  income  by  writing  for 
the  newspapers.  Yon  have  seen  one  or  two  of  taoso  articles, 
and  I  have  been  offered  in;,roductions,  as  you  know.  Well  now — " 

And  again  he  paused.  All  this  had  been  more  or  less  plain 
sailing ;  now  he  was  approaching  a  much  more  delicate  matter. 

"  Well — the  fact  is — there  has  been  some  envious  tittle-tattle — 
wretched  stuff — not  worth  mentioning — except  for  this :  that  if 
I  went  to  my  father  and  told  him  I  wished  to  marry  your  grand- 
daughter, he  would  be  opposed  to  it.  Yes,  that  is  the  truth.  He 
does  not  know  you ;  he  has  never  even  seen  Maisrie ;  and  of 
course  he  goes  by  what  he  hears — absolute  folly  as  it  is.  How- 
ever," Vincent  continued,  with  some  effort  at  cheerfulness,  for 
he  was  glad  to  get  away  from  that  subject  without  being  ques- 
tioned, "the  main  poiub  is  this:  if  Maisrie  and  I  were  to  got 
married  at  once — as  we  have  the  right  to  do — we  are  surely  of 
sufficient  age — we  know  onr  own  minds — I  am  quite  certain  my 
father  would  accept  the  who.j  affair  good-naturedly  and  reason- 
ably, and  all  would  be  well  Then  see  what  it  would  be  for 
Maisrie  to  have  an  assured  position  like  that  t  She  would  be 
able  to  give  up  her  share  in  the  small  income  you  once  spoke  of ; 
that  would  be  altogether  yours;  and  surely  you  would  be  glad 
to  know  that  her  future  was  safe,  whatever  might  happen.  There 
would  practically  be  no  separation  between  you  and  her ;  it  isn't 
as  if  she  were  moving  into  another  sphere — among  pretentious 
people ;  in  fact,  all  the  advantages  are  on  her  side.  If  we  have 
plenty  of  money,  she  has  birth  and  name  and  family ;  and  then 
again,  when  Maisrie  and  I  took  up  house  for  ourselves,  there 
would  be  no  more  welcome  guest  than  her  grandfather.  I  think 
I  can  promise  that." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  an  ominous  silence. 

"Has  Maisrie,"  said  George  Bethune,  with  slow  and  measured 
enunciation,  and  he  regarded  the  young  man  from  under  his 
shaggy  eyebrows — "  has  Maisrie  intimated  to  you  her  wish  for 
that — that  arrangement  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Vincent,  eagerly.  "  How  could  she !  I  thought 
I  was  bound  to  speak  to  you  first,  for,  of  course,  she  will  do 
nothing  without  your  approval  But  don't  yon  think  she  has 
had  enough  cf  a  wandering  life — enough  of  precarious  circom- 
stanoes !  and  then  if  her  heart  says  *  Yes,'  too  f 


•iii 


sment.  If  there  wore 
icome  by  writing  for 
bwo  of  taoso  articles, 
ikno«r.  Well  now — " 
m  more  or  less  plain 
more  delicate  matter, 
ennons  tittle-tattle — 
cept  for  this :  tliat  if 
to  marry  yoar  grand- 
that  is  the  troth.  He 
een  Maisrie;  and  of 
I  folly  as  it  is.  How- 
t  at  cheerfulness,  for 
t  without  being  qnes- 
ie  and  I  were  to  get 
do — we  are  surely  of 
[  am  quite  certain  my 
latnredly  and  reason- 
hat  it  would  be  for 
that  I  She  would  be 
le  you  once  spoke  of ; 
y  you  would  be  glad 
night  happen.  There 
you  and  her ;  it  isn't 
— among  pretentions 
ler  side.  If  we  have 
ind  family;  and  then 
I  for  oursekes,  there 
^andfather.    I  think 

aoos  silence, 
th  slow  and  measnred 
man  from  nnder  his 
i  to  yon  her  wish  for 

>uld  shet  I  thought 
t  course,  she  will  do 
I't  yon  think  she  has 
>f  precarious  ciroom- 
toof 


■TAIID  VAST,  ORAIO-KOTROiri 


•71 


Well,  if  this  venerable  impostor  had  at  last  succeeded  in  en- 
trapping a  rich  man's  son — in  getting  him  to  propose  marriage 
to  his  granddaughter — he  did  not  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry  to  se- 
cure his  prey. 

"  Maisrie  has  said  nothing  t"  Qeorge  Bethnne  asked  again  in 
that  curiously  impassive  fashion. 

"  No." 

'*  Has  expressed  no  wish  t" 

*'  No ;  I  have  not  spoken  to  her  about  this  immediate  pro- 
posal." 

"  Then  until  she  has,"  said  the  old  man  calmly,  "  I  most  re- 
fuse any  consent  of  mine.  I  think  you  have  described  the  whole 
situation  very  fairly — clearly  and  honestly,  as  I  imagine  ;  but  I 
do  npt  see  any  reason  for  departing  from  what  I  said  to  you  be- 
fore: that  I -would  rather  my  granddaughter  were  not  bound  by 
any  formal  tie  or  pledge,  much  less  by  such  a  marriage  as  yon 
propose.  For  one  thing,  she  may  have  a  future  before  her  that 
she  little  dreams  of.  Of  course,  if  her  happiness  were  involved,  if 
she  came  to  me  and  said  that  only  by  such  and  such  an  arrange- 
ment could  her  peace  of  mind  be  secured,  then  I  might  alter  my 
views.  At  present  I  see  no  cause  to  do  so.  You  are  ^  >th  young ; 
if  you  care  for  each  other,  you  should  be  content  to  wait  Yean 
are  a  valuable  test.  After  all,  according  to  your  own  showing, 
you  are  dependent  on  your  father's  caprice ;  some  angry  ob- 
jection on  his  part,  and  where  would  the  fortunes  of  the  young 
married  couple  be !" 

But  Vincent  was  too  impetuous  to  be  easily  discouraged. 

"  Even  then  I  should  not  be  quite  helpless,"  he  urged.  "  And 
is  my  willingness  to  work  to  connt  for  nothing  t  However,  that 
is  not  the  immediate  question.  Supposing  Maisrie's  happiness 
were  concerned  ?  supposing  she  were  a  little  tired  of  the  uncer- 
tainty of  her  life  ?  supposing  she  were  willing  to  trust  herself 
to  me — what  then  ?  Why,  if  she  came  to  you,  and  admitted  as 
much, I  know  yon  would  consent  Is  not  that  so) — I  know  it 
is  so  I — yon  would  consent,  for  Maisrie's  sake }" 

The  old  man's  eyes  were  turned  away  now,  fixed  on  the  slum- 
bering coals  in  the  grate. 

"  I  had  dreamed  of  other  things,"  he  said,  almoct  to  himself. 

"  Yes ;  but  if  Maisrie  came  to  yon  f '  Vincent  said,  with  the 
same  eagerness,  ahnost,  indeed,  with  some  trace  of  joyous  assur- 


■f 
J. 


979 


■TAm  VAST,  OBAIO-MTtTOM  I 


•noe.  "  She  would  not  h«re  long  to  plead,  I  think  t  And  then 
again,  at  any  moinent,  my  circnmstanceB  might  be  BO  altered  as 
to  give  you  all  the  guarantee  for  the  future  which  jou  aeeni  to 
think  neceaaary.  A  word  from  my  father  to-morrow  might  set- 
tle that,  if  I  went  to  him  and  could  get  him  to  understand  what 
Maisrio  really  waa.  Or  I  might  obtain  tome  definite  post  I 
have  some  good  friends':  I  am  going  up  to  London  to-morrow, 
and  could  begin  to  make  inquiries.  In  the  meantime,"  he  added, 
hastily,  for  he  heard  some  one  on  the  stair,  "  do  you  object  to 
my  telling  Maisrie  what  you  have  said  f" 

<'  What  I  have  said  I  I  dare  say  nho  knows,"  old  George  Be- 
thune  made  answer,  in  an  absent  sort  of  way ;  and  at  this  mo- 
ment Maisrie  entered  the  room,  bringing  her  sewing  with  her, 
and  further  speech  was  impossible. 

It  waa  on  this  same  afternoon  that  Lord  Musselburgh  carried 
along  to  his  fair  fianeie  a  report  of  the  interview  he  had  had 
with  Vincent  in  the  morning.  The  young  widow  was  dreadfaUj 
alarmed. 

"  Oh,  my  goodness  1"  she  exclaimed,  and  she  began  to  pace 
up  and  down  the  room  in  her  agitation.  "  Marry  the  girl  at 
once  I  Why,  it  is  destruction !  Fancy  what  ail  our  plans  and 
interests,  all  our  lives,  would  be  with  Yin  cut  out  I  It  cannot 
be  —  it  shall  not  be  I  It  must  be  prevented  at  any  cost !  He 
would  be  dead — worse  than  dead — we  should  be  pitying  him 
Always,  and  knowing  where  he  was,  and  not  able  to  go  near  him. 
Ton  don't  mean  to  say  he  is  definitely  resolved  I"  she  demanded 
in  her  desperation. 

•*  Indeed,  there  is  no  doubt  about  it— he  spoke  as  phunly  as 
you  could  wish,"  said  Lord  Musselburgh.  "  And  ho  has  argned 
the  thing  out ;  his  head  is  clear  enough,  for  all  this  wild  infatua- 
tion of  his.  Ho  sees  that  his  father  will  not  consent  before- 
hand ;  BO  he  means  to  marry,  and  then  hope  for  reconciliation 
when  the  whole  affair  is  past  praying  for.  That's  the  pro- 
gramme, you  may  depend  on  it." 

"  Harland  must  know  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  going  in- 
stantly to  her  writing-desk  "  This  must  and  shall  be  prevented  I 
I  am  not  going  to  have  my  boy's  life  ruined  by  a  pack  of  beg- 
ging-letter swindlers  and  cheats  1" 


'•^'"•■■■"^'"•■""•^""■•••'■•■"WpillfiB 


■ON  I 

,  I  think  I  And  then 
light  be  so  altered  as 
re  which  y  oa  seem  to 
to-morrow  might  set- 
n  to  anderatand  what 
>me  definite  poit    I 

0  London  to-morrow, 
meantime,"  he  added, 
ir,  "  do  yoa  object  to 

owB,"  old  George  Be- 
iray  ;  and  at  this  mo- 
her  sewing  with  her, 

[  Musselburgh  carried 
interview  he  had  had 
widow  was  dreadfnUj 

id  she  began  to  pace 

"  Marry  the  girl  at 

'hat  ail  our  plans  and 

1  out  out  I  It  cannot 
ted  at  any  cost !  He 
bould  be  pitying  him 
it  able  to  go  near  him. 
lived  I"  she  demanded 

le  spoke  as  plainly  as 
"  And  he  has  argued 
r  all  this  wild  infatua- 
1  not  consent  before- 
lope  for  reconciliation 
'or.     That's  the  pto- 

Irs.  Ellison,  going  in- 
td  shall  be  prevented  I 
led  by  a  pack  of  beg- 


■TAIID   VAST,  OKAIO-BOTBTOR  I 


ITt 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

"AWD   HAST   THOU  PLATBD    MB   THIS  f 

And  now  in  this  time  of  urgency  the  appeal  was  to  Maisrie 
herself ;  and  how  could  he  doubt  what  her  answer  would  be,  in 
Hpilo  of  all  those  strange  and  inexplicable  forebodings  that 
Bocmed  to  haunt  hor  mind  I 

But  when  he  got  up  next  morning  he  found  to  his  dismay  that 
a  Budden  change  in  the  weather  was  like  to  interfere  in  a  very 
practical  manner  with  his  audacious  plans.  During  the  night 
the  wind  had  backed  to  the  southwest,  accompanied  by  a  sharp 
fall  of  the  barometer ;  and  now  a  stiff  gale  was  blowing,  and 
already  a  heavy  sea  was  thundering  in  on  the  beach.  There  was 
as  yet  no  rain,  it  is  true ;  but  along  the  southern  horiion  the 
lowering  heavens  were  even  darker  than  the  wind-driven  waters; 
and  an  occasional  shiver  of  white  sunlight  that  swept  across  the 
waves  spoke  clearly  enough  of  coming  wet.  Was  it  not  alto- 
gether too  wild  and  stormy  a  morning  to  hope  that  Maisrie 
would  venture  forth  t  And  yet  he  was  going  away  that  day, 
with  great  uncertainty  as  to  the  time  uf  biH  return ;  and  bow 
could  he  go  without  having  some  private  speech  with  her  ?  Nor 
was  there  any  prospect  of  a  lightening  up  of  the  weather  out- 
side ;  the  gale  seemed  to  bo  increasing  in  fury,  and  ht  ate  his 
breakfast  in  silence,  listening  to  the  long  dull  roar  and  reverber- 
ation of  the  heavy-breaking  surf. 

Nevertheless,  here  was  a  crisis,  and  something  had  to  be  done. 
So  about  half-past  ten  ho  went  along  to  the  lodging-house  in 
German  Place.  The  servant-maid  greeted  this  handsome  young 
man  with  an  approving  glance,  and  informed  him  that  both  Mr. 
and  Miss  Bethune  were  in  the  parlor  up-stairs. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  this  implied  invitation, 
"  I  won't  go  up.  I  want  to  see  Miss  Bethune  by  herself.  Would 
yon  ask  her  if  she  would  be  so  kind  as  to  come  down-stairs  for 
just  a  moment!    I  won't  detain  her." 

The  girl  divined  the  situation  in  an  instant,  and  proved  her- 
18 


■»| 


.^.- 


874 


■TAirD   FABT,  OUAIO-IIOTtTOW  I 


Mif  fr'ondly.  Without  more  adft  she  turned  the  handle  of  it 
door  near  her. 

*'  Won't  you  atop  in  there,  air  f   The  gentleman  *aa  gone  out." 

Vincent  glanced  into  the  little  parlor.  Uere,  indeed,  waa  a 
refuge  from  the  atorm ;  but  all  the  fuinio  ho  did  not  Uke  to  in- 
vade the  privacy  of  a  atranger'a  apartmenta. 

"  Oh,  no,  thanka,"  ho  aaid ;  *'  I  will  wait  hero,  if  Miaa  Bethuno 
will  be  8o  kind  aa  to  como  down  for  a  minute.  Will  you  aak 
her,  ploaae  I" 

The  girl  went  up-ataira,  and  returned  with  the  meaaage  that 
Miaa  Bethuno  would  bo  down  directly  ;  then  ahe  diaappeared,  and 
Vincent  was  left  alone  in  thia  little  lobby.  It  waa  not  a  very 
pictnroaquo  place,  to  be  auro,  for  an  interview  between  two  lov- 
ers ;  atill,  it  would  aorve,  especially  if  the  friendly  chambermaid 
were  out  of  earshot,  and  if  no  prying  landlady  should  come 
•long.  The  gale  outaido  waa  ao  violent  that  all  tho  doors  and 
vrindows  of  the  house  wore  shaking  add  rattling,  lie  could  not 
ask  Maisrio  to  face  such  a  storm. 

But  in  a  second  or  so  hero  was  Maisrie  herself,  all  ready  ap- 
parelled —  hat,  muff,  gloves,  boa,  and  the  furred  collar  of  her 
jacket  turned  up. 

"  Why,  Maisrie,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  moan  you  are  going  out 
03  such  a  morning.     It  is  far  too  wild  and  stormy." 

"  That  is  of  no  consequence,"  she  made  anawer  simply.  "  I 
have  something  to  say  to  yon,  Vincent,  before  you  go." 

"  And  I  have  aomething  to  say  to  yon,  Maisrie.  Still,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  some  little  hesitation  (for  he  waa  accustomed  to  take 
charge  of  her  and  gnard  her  from  the  smallest  barma),  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  got  wot  and  blown  about." 

"  What  does  that  matter  t"  she  aaid.  It  was  not  of  a  shower 
of  rain  that  she  was  thinking. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  he  at  last.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  v  s'll  do ; 
we'll  fight  oar  way  down  to  the  sea-front,  and  then  go  out  to 
the  end  of  the  Chain  Pier.  There  are  some  places  of  shelter 
out  there,  and  there  won't  be  a  living  soul  anywhere  about  on 
such  a  morning.  For  I  nm  going  to  ask  you  to  make  a  promise, 
Maisrie,"  ho  added,  in  a  lower  voice,  "  and  the  sea  and  the  sky 
will  be  quite  suiBcient  witnesses." 

And  truly  this  was  fighting  their  way,  as  they  discovered  the 
moment  they  had  left  ^e  house ;  for  tlie  gnats  and  squalls  that 


■MIRi"' 


rned  the  handle  of  a 

itleman  *as  gone  out." 
Ilere,  indeed,  wm  a 
bo  did  not  like  to  in- 
fl. 

hero,  if  Miaa  Bethuno 
inute.     Will  you  aak 

rith  the  mesMge  that 
I  Bhe  diaappeared,  and 
r.  It  waa  not  a  rery 
fiew  between  two  lov- 
friendly  chambermaid 
iindlady  should  come 
hat  all  the  doors  and 
httling.    lie  could  not 

herself,  all  ready  ap- 
furred  collar  of  her 

Dan  you  are  going  out 

stormy." 

<  answ  cr  simply.     **  I 

Fore  you  go." 

[aisrie.    Still,"  he  oon- 

sa  accustomed  to  take 

llest  barms),  "  I  don't 

;  was  not  of  a  shower 

b11  you  whati's'll  do; 
,  and  then  go  out  to 
>me  places  of  shelter 
il  anywhere  about  on 
>u  to  D^ake  a  promise, 
I  the  sea  and  the  sky 

I  they  discovered  the 
fusts  and  squalls  that 


*>t<l^l^lllgltfmmim>mmmmmtmmmmm 


STAITD  riBT,  OSilO-BOTtrom 


170 


came  tearing  along  the  street  were  like  to  ehoke  them.  She 
clung  to  his  arm  tightly ;  but  her  s'tirta  were  Mown  about  her 
and  impeded  her ;  the  two  ends  of  her  boa  wont  flying  away 
over  her  shoulders ;  while  her  hair  waa  speedily  iu  a  most  un- 
toward state,  though  her  companion  thought  it  wan  always  pret- 
tier that  way  than  any  other.  Nevertheless,  they  leaned  forward 
BgaiDHt  tho  wind,  and  drove  themaelvea  through  it,  and  eventu- 
ally got  down  to  the  sea-front  Here,  again,  they  wore  almost 
stunned  by  the  terrific  roar;  for  the  tide  was  full  up,  and  the 
huge  brown,  concave,  white-crested  waves,  thunderiug  down  oa 
the  shelving  ahingle,  filled  all  the  thick  air  with  spray ;  while 
light  balls  of  foam  went  sailing  away  inhuid,  t>wnd  hither  and 
thither  up  into  tho  purple-darkened  aky.  So  far  the  driving 
squalls  had  brought  no  rain,  but  tho  atmosphere  was  surcharged 
with  a  salt  moisture ;  more  than  once  Vincent  s'^cpped  for  a  sec- 
ond, and  took  hia  handkerchief  to  dry  Maisrie's  laahcs  and  eye* 
brows,  and  to  push  back  from  her  forehead  the  fine  wet  threads 
of  her  glistening  hair. 

But  soon  they  had  got  away  from  this  roar  of  water  and  grind* 
ing  pebbles,  and  were  out  on  the  pier,  that  waa  swaying  sinu- 
ously before  these  fierce  gusts,  and  that  trembled  to  its  found*- 
tions  under  each  successive  shock  of  the  heavy  surge.  And  now 
they  could  get  a  better  view  of  the  wide  and  hurrying  sea — a 
sea  of  a  tawny-brownish  hue  melting  into  a  vivid  green  some 
way  farther  out,  and  always  and  everywhere  showing  swift 
flashes  of  white,  that  seemed  to  gleam  all  the  more  auddenly 
and  sharply  where  the  weight  of  the  purple  skies  darkened  dowa 
to  tho  horizon. 

"  What  a  shame  it  is,"  he  said  to  her,  perhaps  with  somo 
affectation  of  cheerfulness,  for  she  seemed  curiously  preoccu- 
pied— "  what  a  shame  it  is  to  drag  you  out  on  such  a  mora* 
ing  1" 

*•  I  do  not  mind  it,"  she  made  answer ;  "  it  will  be  something 
to  remember." 

When  they  reached  the  end  of  the  pier,  which  was  wholly  de- 
serted, he  ensconced  her  snugly  in  a  corner  of  one  of  the  pro- 
tected seats ;  and  he  was  not  far  away  from  her  when  he  sat 
down.  Her  lips  had  grown  pale  with  the  bnfl!eting  of  tho  wind; 
the  outaide  threads  and  plaits  of  her  hair  were  damp  and  disor- 
dered, and  her  eyes  were  grave  even  to  sadness;  and  yet  never 


"1 


W-- 


976 


NARD   rXBT,  OAAIO-BOTSTOHl 


had  the  strange  witchery  of  her  yoathf  al  beanty  so  entirely  en- 
tranced him.  Perhaps  it  was  the  dim  fear  of  losing  her  that 
dwelt  8*3  a  sort  of  shadow  in  his  mind  even  when  he  was  most 
buoyed  up  by  the  radiant  confidence  of  four-and-twenty ;  per- 
haps it  was  the  knowledge  that,  for  a  time  at  least,  this  was  to 
be  farewell.  At  all  events  he  sat  close  to  her,  and  held  her  hand 
tight,  as  though  to  make  sure  she  should  not  be  stolen  away 
from  him. 

"  Maisrie,"  said  he, "  do  yon  know  that  I  spoke  to  yonr  ^nd- 
father  yesterday  f" 

" Yes," she  answered ;  " he  told  me."      n'  'r'i 

"  And  what  did  he  say  f 

"  At  first,"  she  said,  with  a  bit  of  a  sigh, "  he  talked  of  Ballo- 
ray.  I  was  sorry  that  came  up  again ;  he  is  happier  when  he 
does  not  think  of  it.  And,  indeed,  I  have  noticed  that  of  late 
he  has  almost  given  up  speaking  of  the  possibility  of  a  great 
change  in  our  condition.  What  chance  is  there  of  any  such 
thing  t  e  have  no  money  to  go  to  law,  even  if  the  law  had 
not  already  decided  against  us.  Then  grandfather's  idea  that 
the  estates  might  come  to  ns  through  some  accident,  or  series 
of  accidents — what  is  that  but  a  dream !  i  am  sure  he  is  far 
more  content  when  he  forgets  what  might  have  been ;  when  he 
trusts  entirely  to  his  own  courage  and  self-reliance ;  when  he  is 
thinking,  not  of  lost  estates,  but  of  some  ballad  he  means  to 
write  about  in  the  Edinburgh  Chronicle.  Poor  grandfather! 
And  yet  who  can  help  admiring  his  spirit — the  very  gayety  of 
his  nature — in  spite  of  all  his  misfortunes  I" 

"  Yes,  Maisrie ;  but—but  what  did  he  say  about  yon  f 

"  About  me  t"  the  girl  repeated.  "  Well,  it  was  his  usual, 
kindness.  He  said  I  was  only  to  think  of  what  would  tend  to 
my  own  happiness  Happiness  T'  she  went  on  rather  sadly. 
"  As  if  this  world  was  made  for  happiness." 

It  was  a  Rtrange  speech  for  one  so  young — one  who,  so  far  as 
he  could  make  out,  had  been  so  gently  nurtured  and  cared  for. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Maisrie  t"  said  he,  in  his  astonishment. 
<*  Why  should  you  not  have  happiness,  as  well  as  another  ?  Who 
can  deserve  it  more  than  you! — you  who  are  so  generous  and 
well-wishing  to  every  one." 

"  I  would  rather  not  speak  of  myself  at  all,  Vincent,"  she  said. 
"  That  is  nothing.    I  want  to  speak  of  yon.    I  want  you  to  con- 


■IHl 


■wmrMPW* 


OH  I 

jeaaty  so  entirely  en* 
a  of  losing  her  that 
m  vrhen  he  was  most 
'our-and-twenty ;  per- 
)  at  least,  this  was  to 
er,  and  held  her  hand 
1  not  be  stolen  away 

spoke  to  yonr  ^and- 

■«;** 
, "  he  talked  of  Ballo- 
B  is  happier  when  he 
)  noticed  that  of  late 
possibility  of  a  great 
is  there  of  any  such 
even  if  the  law  had 
andfather's  idea  that 
le  accident,  or  series 

I  am  sure  he  is  far 
have  been ;  when  he 
reliance ;  when  he  is 
ballad  he  means  to 

Poor  grandfather! 
— the  very  gayety  of 

y  about  yon  f" 
11,  it  was  his  usual 
what  would  tend  to 
mt  on  rather  sadly. 

—-one  who,  so  far  as 
ired  and  cared  for. 
in  his  astonishment 
11  as  another?  Who 
are  so  generous  and 

,  Vincent,"  she  said. 
I  want  you  to  con- 


■  '5t-' 


STAITD   rAOT,  ORAIO-BOTSTOH  I 

sider  what  is  best  for  you.  And  I  understand  your  position, 
perhaps  more  clearly  than  you  imagine.  You  have  made  me 
think,  of  late,  about  many  things ;  and  now  that  yon  are  going 
away  I  must  speak  frankly.  It  will  be  di£Scnlt.  Perhaps — per- 
haps if  you  were  more  considerate,  Vincent — " 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  That  Maisrie  should  have  to  beg  for  consid- 
eration ! 

"  There  might  be  no  need  of  speaking,"  she  went  on,  after 
that  momentary  pause.  "  If  you  were  to  go  away  now,  and 
never  see  us  any  more,  wouldn't  that  be  the  simplest  thing! 
There  would  be  no  misunderstanding — no  ill-feeling  of  any  kind. 
You  would  think  of  the  time  we  knew  you  in  London — ^and  I'm 
sure  I  should  always  think  of  it — as  a  pleasant  time ;  perhaps 
-omething  too  good  to  last  I  have  told  you  before :  you  must 
remember  what  yonr  prospects  are — what  all  your  friends  ex- 
pect of  you — and  you  will  see  that  no  good  could  come  of  ham- 
pering yourself  —  of  introducing  some  one  to  your  family  who 
would  only  bring  diflBculty  and  trouble — " 

"  Yes,  I  understand !"  he  said,  and  he  threw  away  her  hand 
from  him.  "  I  understand  now.  But  why  not  tell  the  truth  at 
oDce — that  yon  do  not  love  me,  as  I  had  been  fool  enough  to 
think  you  did !" 

"  Yes,  perhaps  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  And  yet  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself.  I  was  trying  to  think 
of  what  was  best  for  you — " 

Her  voice  broke  a  little,  and  there  were  tears  gathering  on  her 
eyelashes,  seeing  which  made  him  instantly  contrite.  He  caught 
her  hand  again. 

"  Maisrie,  forgive  me !  I  don't  know  why  you  should  talk  like 
that  1  If  I  have  your  love  I  do  not  fear  anything  that  may  hap- 
pen in  the  future.  There  is  nothing  to  fear.  When  I  spoke  to 
your  grandfather  yesterday  afternoon  I  told  him  precisely  how  I 
was  situated  ;  and  I  showed  him  that,  granting  there  were  some 
few  little  difficulties,  the  best  way  to  meet  them  would  be  for 
you  and  me  to  get  married  atonce ;  then  everything  would  come 
right  of  its  own  accord — for  one  must  credit  one's  relatives  with 
a  little  common -sense.  Now  that  is  my  solution  of  all  this 
trouble.  Oh,  yes,  I  confess  there  has  been  a  little  trouble ;  but 
here  is  my  solution  of  it — if  yon  have  courage,  Maisrie.  Ifaisrie, 
will  you  give  me  your  promise  f    Will  yon  be  my  wife  f 


fr- 


878 


STAND   FAST,  OKAIG-BOTSTOIT I 


She  looked  at  him  for  ft  secoad ;  then  lowered  her  eyes. 

"  Vincent,"  she  said,  slowly,  «♦  you  don't  know  what  you  ask. 
And  I  have  wished  that  you  would  understand  without  my  hav- 
ing to  speak.  I  have  wished  that  yon  would  understand — and 
go  away — and  make  oar  friendship  a  memory,  something  to 
think  over  in  after-years.  For  how  can  I  tell  you  clearly  without 
seeming  cruel  and  ungrateful  to  one  who  has  througL  my  whole 
life  been  kindness  and  goodness  to  me  ? — no ! — no  1" 

She  withdrew  her  hand;  she  turned  away  from  him  alto- 
gether. 

"  Maisrie,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  say  anything,  except 
that  you  love  me  and  will  be  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife,  Vincent — ^yonr  wife  1"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  pite- 
ous sort  of  way.  "  How  can  you  ask  any  one  to  be  your  wife  who 
has  led  the  life  that  I  have  led  I  Can  you  not  guess,  Vincent — 
without  my  having  to  speak  F' 

He  was  astounded,  but  not  alarmed ;  never  had  his  faith  in  her 
flinched  for  a  single  instant. 

"  The  life  you  have  led  I"  said  he,  rather  breathlessly.  "  Why 
— a — a  beautiful  life — an  idyllic  life ;  constant  travel,  and  always 
treated  with  such  kindness  and  care  and  affection — an  ideal  life 
— why,  who  would  not  envy  you  f" 

She  was  sobbing,  with  her  head  averted. 

<<  Don't,  Vincent !  don't !  I  cannot — I  will  not  tell  yoUt."  she 
said,  in  a  kind  of  despair.  "  What  is  the  use  ?  But  it  is  you 
who  have  made  me  think ;  it  is  you  who  have  shown  me  clearly 
what  I  have  been.  I — I  was  young — I  was  only  a  child ;  my 
grandfather  was  everything  to  me ;  whatever  he  did  was  right 
And  now  I  have  become  a  woman  since  I  knew  yon — I  can  see 
myself ;  and  I  know  that  never,  never  can  I  be  your  wife." 

"  Maisrie  1" 

But  she  paid  no  heed.  She  was  strangely  excited.  She  rose 
to  her  feet ;  and  for  a  moment  he  thought  he  saw  a  look  of  her 
iprandfather  in  her  face. 

"And  yet  even  in  my  degradation — my  degradation,"  she 
■aid,  repeating  the  words  with  cruel  emphasis,  "I  have  some 
pride.  I  know  what  your  friends  think  of  me,  or  I  can  guess. 
Perhaps  they  are  right  Perhaps  the  stories  yon  spoke  of  were 
all  to  be  believed.  That  is  neither  here  nor  there  now.  But  at 
least  they  need  not  be  afraid  that  I  am  coming  to  them  as  a  sup- 


^■p* 


1 


'OKI 

>wered  her  eyes.  J 
b  know  what  you  aslc. 
tand  without  my  hav- 
)uld  understand — and 
lemory,  something  to 
ell  you  clearly  without 
baa  through  my  whole 
no!— no!" 
away  from  him  alto- 

0  say  anything,  except 

i  exclaimed,  in  a  pite- 
ne  to  be  your  wife  who 

1  not  guess,  Vincent — 

rer  had  his  faith  in  her 

r  breathlessly.  "Why 
itant  travel,  and  always 
ofEection — an  ideal  life 

I. 

will  not  tell  youj'  she 
e  use !  But  it  is  you 
have  shown  me  clearly 
was  only  a  child ;  my 
ever  he  did  was  right 

knew  you — I  can  see 

I  be  your  wife." 

;ely  excited.  She  rose 
it  he  saw  a  look  of  her 

my  degradation,"  she 
phasis,  "I  have  some 
of  me,  or  I  can  guess, 
ries  you  spoke  of  were 
lor  there  now.  But  at 
■ming  to  them  as  a  sop- 


BTAiro  VAST,  ORAIO-ROTBTON  t 


379 


pliant.    I  will  not  bring  shame  upon  them ;  they  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  me." 

He  regarded  her  with  astonishment,  and  with  something  of 
reproach  also ;  these  proud  tones  did  not  sound  like  Maisrie's 
voice.     And  all  of  a  sudden  she  changed. 

"  Why,  Vincent,  why,"  she  said,  "  should  you  put  yourself  in 
opposition  to  your  friends !  Why  give  up  all  the  splendid  future 
that  is  before  you !  Why  disappoint  all  the  hopes  that  have 
been  formed  of  you  f" 

"  If  need  were,  for  the  sake  of  your  love,  Maisrie,"  he  said. 

"  My  love  f '  she  said.  "  But  you  have  that,  Vincent — and — 
and  you  shall  have  that  always !" 

And  here  she  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping,  and  in 
vain  he  tried  to  soothe  her.  Nay,  she  would  not  have  him 
speak. 

"Lot  this  be  the  last,"  she  said,  through  her  bitter  sobs. 
"  Only — only,  Vincent,  don't  go  away  with  any  doubt  abont 
that  in  your  mind.  I  love  you ! — I  shall  love  you  always !  I 
will  give  my  life  to  thinking  of  you — when  you  are  far  too  oc- 
cupied— ever  to  think  of  me.  Will  you  believe  me,  Vincent? 
Will  you  believe  always  that  I  loved  you  ?— that  I  loved  you 
too  well  to  do  what  you  ask — ^to  become  a  drag  on  you — and  a 
shame."  The  tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks ;  but  she 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  bravely  and  piteously  on  him  as  she  uttered 
her  wild,  incoherent  sentences.  "  My  dearest — my  dearest  in 
all  the  world — ^will  you  remember— will  you  believe  that  always  f 
Will  you  say  to  yourself,  '  Wherever  Maisrie  is  at  this  moment, 
she  loves  me — she  is  thinking  of  Ime  T  Promise  me,  Vincent, 
that  you  will  never  doubt  that!  No,  you  need  not  put  it  into 
words ;  your  heart  tells  you  that  it  is  true.  And  now,  Vincent, 
kiss  me ! — ^kiss  me,  Vincent ! — and  then  good-bye !" 

She  held  up  her  face.  He  kissed  her  lips,  that  were  salt  with 
the  sea-foam.  The  tangles  of  her  wind-blown  hair  touched  his 
cheek  and  thrilled  him. 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment  He  was  overawed.  This 
pure  confession  of  a  maiden  soul  had  something  sacred  about 
it.  How  could  he  reply  with  conunonplace  phrases  abont  his 
friends  and  the  future  ?  And  yet  here  was  Maisrie  on  the  point 
of  depwtare ;  she  only  waited  for  a  word  of  good-bye ;  and  her 
eyes,  that  were  now  filled  with  a  strange  sadness  and  hopelew* 


■I 


'f 


280 


nAXD  VAST,  ORAIO-ROTSTOiri 


neM,  no  longer  regarded  him.  The  farewell  had  been  spoken— 
on  her  side. 

"  And  yon  think  I  will  let  you  go,  after  what  you  have  just 
eonfessedf  he  aaid  to  her;  and  his  calm  and  restrained  de- 
meanor was  a  sort  of  answer  to  her  trembling  vehemence  and 
her  despair.  "  Yon  give  me  the  proudest  possession  a  man  may 
have  on  this  earth ;  and  I  am  to  stand  idly  by  and  let  it  be  taken 
away  from  me.    Is  t)  at  a  likely  thing  f" 

He  took  her  hand,  and  put  her  back  into  the  sheltered  comer. 

"  Sit  down  there,  Maisrie,  out  of  the  wind.  I  want  to  talk 
to  you.  I  was  a  fool  when  I  mentioned  those  stories  the  other 
day ;  I  <v:ould  have  cut  my  tongue  out  the  next  moment,  and, 
indeed,  I  thought  you  took  no  notice.  Why  should  you  take 
any  notice!  Insensate  trash!  And  who  escapes  such  things! 
and  who  is  so  childish  as  to  heed  them  ?  Then,  again,  I  remem- 
ber your  saying  that  I  knew  nothing  about  your  grandfather  or 
yourself.  Do  you  think  that  is  so  f  Do  you  think  I  have  been 
all  this  time  constantly  in  your  society — ^watching  you,  studying 
yon — yes,  and  studying  you  with  the  anxiety  that  goes  with 
love ;  for  of  course  you  want  the  one  you  love  to  be  perfect 
I>>  you  imagine,  after  all  this,  that  I  do  not  know  yon  and  un- 
d'srstand  you !  Degradation !  Very  well ;  I  accept  that  degra- 
dation. I  welcome  all  the  degradation  that  is  likely  to  be  asso- 
oiated  with  you.  If  I  were  to  wash  my  hands  in  that  sort  of 
degradation,  I  think  they  would  come  out  a  little  whiter  1  I 
know  yon  to  be  as  pure  and  noble  as  the  purest  and  noblest 
Ivoman  alive;  and  what  do  I  cue  about  your — your  circnni' 
stances  f" 

"  Don't,  Vincent  1  don't  be  kind  to  me,  Vincent  t"  she  said, 
piteously.  "  It  will  be  all  the  harder  to  think  of  when — ^when 
we  are  separated — and  far  away  from  each  other." 

"Tea,  but  we  are  not  going  to  separate,"  said  he,  briefly. 
**  Your  grandfather  has  left  you  to  decide  for  yonrself ;  and  surely, 
after  what  you  have  said  to  me  this  morning,  surely  I  have  the 
right  to  decide  for  yon.  We  are  not  i^ing  to  separate,  Maisrie, 
except  for  a  few  days.  When  I  am  up  in  London  I  mean  to 
look  ronnd  and  see  what  dispositions  can  be  made  with  regard 
to  the  future.  Oh,  I  assure  yon  I  am  going  to  be  very  prudent 
and  circumspect ;  and  I  am  ready  to  turn  my  hand  to  anything. 
Then,  in  another  direction,  Maisrie,  yon  might  givf  me  a  hhit,"  he 


■•MPI 


"imN 


roMi 

>U  had  been  spoken— 

r  what  you  have  just 
m  and  restnuned  de- 
ibling  vehemence  and 
possession  a  man  may 
by  and  let  it  be  taken 

>  the  sheltered  corner, 
rind.  I  want  to  talk 
hose  stories  the  otiier 
le  next  moment,  and, 
^hy  shonld  you  take 

escapes  such  things! 
Then,  again,  I  remem- 
It  your  grandfather  or 
you  think  I  have  been 
ratching  yon,  studying 
Dxiety  that  goes  with 
>u  love  to  be  perfect 
not  know  you  and  un- 
1;  I  accept  that  degra- 
lat  is  likely  to  be  asso- 

hands  in  that  sort  of 
lut  a  little  whiter  I  I 
he  purest  and  noblest 
it  yonr — ^your  circum- 

e,  Vincent  I"  she  said, 
think  of  when — when 
ih  other." 

rate,"  said  he,  briefly, 
or  yourself ;  and  surely, 
Ding,  surely  I  have  the 
ng  to  separate,  Maisrie, 
in  London  I  mean  to 
I  be  made  with  regard 
ing  to  be  very  prudent 
,  my  hand  to  anything, 
ight  givf  me  a  bint,"  he 


■TAint  FAIT,  OBAIO-BOTSTOH  t 


S81 


went  on,  with  much  cheerfulness,  but  watching  her  to  see  how  she 
would  take  it  "  What  part  of  London  do  you  think  yon  would 
like  best  to  live  in  f  If  we  could  get  a  small  house  with  a  gar- 
dea  up  somewhere  about  Campden  Hill,  that  would  be  pleasant; 
and  of  course  there  must  be  a  library  for  your  grandfather,  for 
we  should  want  the  privacy  of  the  morning-room  for  ourselves." 
She  shook  her  head. 

"  Dreams,  Vincent — dreams !"  she  murmured. 
"  But  sometimes  dreams  come  true,"  said  he,  for  he  was  not 
to  be  daunted.  "  And  you  will  see  how  much  dream-work  there 
will  be  about  it  when  I  get  things  put  into  trim  in  London. 
Now  I'm  not  going  to  keep  you  here  any  longer,  Maisrie,  for  I 
fancy  there  is  some  rain  coming  across,  and  you  mustn't  be 
canght  I  will  go  in  and  say  good-bye  to  yonr  grandfather,  if 
I  may ;  and  the  next  you  will  hear  of  me  will  be  when  I  send ' 
you  some  news  from  town.  In  the  meantime,  hearts  up,  Mais- 
rie! Surely  the  granddaughter  of  your  grandfather  should 
show  courage  1" 

When  that  afternoon  Vincent  Harris  arrived  in  London,  he  did 
not  go  to  his  temporary  lodgings  (what  charm  had  the  slummy 
little  street  in  Mayfair  for  him  now  f),  but  to  Grosvenor  Place, 
where  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  room,  and  managed  to  get 
on  somehow  with  that  detested  lecture.     And  next  day  he  went 
down  to  Mendover ;  and  next  evening  he  made  his  appearance 
before  the  Mendover  Liberal  Association ;  and  there  were  the 
customary  votes  of  thanks  to  wind  up  the  proceedings.     There 
was  nothing  in  all  this  worthy  of  note ;  what  was  of  importance 
happened  after,  when  the  president  of  the  association,  who  had 
occupied  the  chair  in  the  absence  of  Lord  Musselburgh,  accom- 
panied Vincent  home  to  the  Red  Lion.    This  Mr.  Simmons  was 
a  solicitor,  and  a  great  political  power  in  Mendover;  so,  when 
he  hinted  that  the  Red  Lion  had  a  certain  bin  of  port  that  was 
famous  all  over  the  country — and,  indeed,  was  powerful  enough 
to  draw  many  a  hunt  dinner  to  this  hostelry  by  its  own  influence 
alone — be  sure  that  Master  Vlnwas  not  long  in  having  a  decanter 
of  the  wine  placed  on  the  table  of  the  private  parlor  he  had  en- 
gaged.    Mr.  Simmons,  who  was  a  sharp,  shrewd  -  looking  little 
tnan,  with  a  pale  face  and  intensely  black  hair  and  short-cropped 
whiskers,  suggested  a  cigar,  and  took  the  largest  he  could  llnd  in 
his  host's  case.  Then  he  proceeded  to  make  himself  importtmt  and 


88S 


BTAITD   FAST,  OIUIO-BOTITOV  I 


happy — with  his  toes  on  the  fender  and  bis  shoulders  softly 
coshioned  in  an  easy-chair. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  complacently,  when  the  cigar  was  going  well, 
"  I  think  I  can  predict  some  good-fortune  for  yon,  and  that  with- 
out haring  my  hand  crossed  with  a  shilling.  I  hope  I  am  break- 
ing no  confidence ;  we  lawyers  are  supposed  to  be  as  mum  as  a 
priest  aftjr  confessional,  but  of  course  what  is  said  between 
gentlemen  will  go  no  further  than  the  four  walls  of  this  room." 

"  I  think  you  may  trust  me  for  that,"  Vincent  said. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  continued  Mr.  Simmons,  with  an  air  of 
bland  consequence.  "  I  will  say  this  at  least — that  in  January 
you  may  fairly  expect  to  be  offered  a  very  pretty  New-Year's 
present." 

*'  Oh,  really,"  said  Vincent,  without  being  much  impressed ; 
*  he  fancied  the  Liberal  Association  were  perhaps  going  to  pass  a 
vote  of  thanks — possibly  inscribed  on  vellum — with  the  names 
of  all  the  officials  writ  large. 

"  A  very  pretty  present ;  the  representation  of  Mendover." 

But  at  this  he  pricked  up  his  cars,  and  Mr.  Simmons  smiled. 

"  Mr.  Richard  Gosf ord  is  my  client,  as  I  think  you  know," 
the  black-a-vised  little  lawyer  went  on ;  "  but  what  I  am  telling 
yon  does  not  come  direct  from  him  to  me.  I  need  not  particu- 
larize my  sources  of  information,  but  from  what  I  can  gather  I 
am  almost  certain  that  he  means  to  resign  at  the  end  of  the  year. 
He  did  talk  of  waiting  for  the  next  general  election,  as  Lord 
Musselburgh  may  have  told  you.  But  his  imaginary  troubles 
have  grown  on  him ;  and  as  far  as  I  can  see  there  will  be  noth- 
ing for  you  but  to  slip  easily  and  quietly  into  his  shoes  next 
January.     A  very  pretty  New-Year's  present !" 

"  But  of  course  there  will  be  a  contest  f"  Vincent  exclaimed. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  Mr.  Simmons  made  answer,  regarding  the  blue 
curls  of  smoke  from  the  cigar.  "The  snuggest  little  seat  in 
England.  Everybody  knows  you  are  Lord  Musselburgh's  nom- 
inee, and  Lord  Musselburgh  has  promised  to  do  everything  for 
our  public  park  that  Mr.  Gosf  ord  ought  to  have  done  when  he 
presented  the  ground.  See  ?  No  bribery  on  your  part.  Sim- 
ple as  daylight.  We'll  run  you  in  as  if  you  were  an  infant  on 
a  wheelbarrow." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you,  I'm  snre,"  said  Vincent  "  Is  there 
anything  you  would  recommend  me  to  do  f" 


mmm 


bis  sbonldera  softly 

igar  wM  going  well, 
r  yon,  and  that  with- 
I  hope  1  am  break- 
d  to  be  as  mam  as  a 
bat  is  said  between 
walls  of  this  room." 
Dcent  said. 
QODS,  with  an  ur  of 
ast— that  in  January 
ry  pretty  New-Year's 

ng  much  impressed; 
rhaps  going  to  pass  a 
lum — with  the  names 

tion  of  Mendover." 
Mr.  Simmons  smiled. 
I  I  think  you  know," 
but  what  I  am  telling 
.     I  need  not  particu- 
n  what  I  can  gather  I 
at  the  end  of  the  year, 
eral  election,  as  Lord 
lis  imaginary  troubles 
lee  there  will  be  noth- 
y  into  bis  shoes  next 
entl" 

"  Vincent  exclaimed, 
er,  regarding  the  blue 
inuggest  little  seat  in 
•d  Musselburgh's  nom- 
to  do  everything  for 
to  have  done  when  he 
V  on  your  part.  Sim- 
you  were  an  infant  on 

i  Vincent    "Is  there 


STAMD  FAST,  0BAIO-BOT8T0H I 


sw 


"  Yes ;  I  would  recommend  you  to  go  and  call  on  old  Qosford 
to-morrow,  before  you  leave  for  town." 

"  Wouldn't  that  look  rather  like  undue  haste  in  seising  a  dead 
man's  effects  ?"  Vincent  ventured  to  ask. 

"  A  dead  man  1"  said  Mr.  Simmons,  helping  himself  to  another 
glass  of  port  "  He  is  neither  dead  nor  dying,  any  more  than 
you  or  I.  And  that's  what  you've  got  to  remember  to-morrow 
when  you  go  to  see  him.  For  goodness'  sake  don't  tell  him 
he's  looking  well,  as  you've  got  to  say  to  most  invalids.  Tell 
him  he's  looking  very  poorly.  Be  seriously  concerned.  Then 
he'll  be  off  to  bed  again — and  delighted.  For  what  he  suffer* 
from  is  simply  incurable  laziness  and  nervous  timidity ;  and  so 
long  as  he  can  hide  himself  under  the  blankets  and  read  booki 
he's  happy." 

"  But  what  excuse  am  I  to  make  for  callin«r  on  himt"  Vincent 
asked  again. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Simmons,  carelessly,  "  one  public  character 
visiting  another.  You  were  here  delivering  a  lecture,  and  of  coarse 
you  called  on  the  sitting  member.  You  won't  want  any  excuse 
if  you  will  tell  him  he  should  take  extraordinary  care  of  himself 
in  this  changeable  weather." 

"  And  should  I  say  anything  about  'he  seatF'  Vincent  asked 
further. 

"  I  must  leave  that  to  your  own  discretion.  Rather  ticklish. 
Perhaps  better  say  nothing,  unless  he  introduces  the  subject; 
then  you  can  talk  about  the  overcrowding  of  the  Hoase,  and  the 
late  hours,  and  the  nervous  wear  and  tear  of  London.  But  yoa 
needn't  suggest  to  him  in  set  t^i-ms  that,  as  he  is  retiring  from 
business,  he  might  as  well  leave  you  the  good-will ;  perhaps  that 
would  be  a  little  too  outspoken." 

As  luck  woold  have  it,  a  day  or  two  after  Vin's  return  to  town 
Mr.  Ogden  came  to  dine  at  Grbsvenor  Place.  It  was  a  man's 
dinner,  a  dinner  of  political  extremists  and  faddists,  but,  so  far 
from  Master  Vincent  retiring  to  his  own  room  and  his  books,  as 
he  sometimes  did,  he  joined  the  party,  and  even  stipulated  for  a 
pUce  next  the  great  electioneerer  and  wire-puller  of  the  North. 
Further  than  that,  he  made  himself  most  agreeable  to  Mr.  Ogden, 
was  most  meek  and  humble  and  good-humored  (for  to  what  deeps 
of  hypocrisy  will  not  a  young  man  descend  when  he  is  madly  in 
love  f),  and  seemed  to  swallow  wholesale  the  long-resoanding  list 


'  i 


fj' 


ir^^ 


984 


nAWD  VAtr,  OKAIQ-KOTtrOirl 


of  reforms — reforms  administrstiTe,  reforms  electoral,  reforms 
fiscal,  reforms  social  and  political.  For  all  the  while  he  was 
saying  within  himself,  "  My  dear  sir,  perhaps  what  yon  say  is 
quite  true,  and  we're  all  going  headlong  to  the  dovil,  with  the 
Caucus  for  drag.  And  I  could  wish  you  to  have  a  few  more  A's; 
still,  many  excellent  men  have  lived  and  died  without  them, 
The  main  point  is  this,  if  one  might  dare  to  ask,  Is  your  private 
secretaryship  still  open  t  And,  if  so,  what  salary  would  yon  propose 
to  give  f"  But  of  course  he  could  not  quite  ask  those  qnestions 
at  his  own  father's  dinner-table ;  besides,  ho  was  in  no  hnrry — 
he  wanted  a  few  more  days  to  look  round. 

The  guests  of  this  evening  did  not  go  up  to  the  drawing-room ; 
they  remained  in  the  dining-room,  smoking,  until  it  was  time  for 
the.a  to  leave ;  then  Harland  Harris  and  his  son  found  themselves 
alone  together.  Now  the  relations  between  father  and  son  had 
been  very  considerably  strained  since  the  morning  on  which  the 
former  had  brought  his  allegations  against  old  George  Bethunc 
and  his  granddaughter,  but  on  this  occasion  Vincent  was  in  a 
particularly  amiable  and  generous  mood.  He  was  pleased  with 
himself  for  having  paid  court  to  Mr.  Ogden;  he  looked  for- 
ward with  somr  ii-^tural  gratification  to  this  early  chance  of  get- 
ting into  Trtrliament ;  itnd,  again,  what  was  the  use  of  attaching 
any  importance  to  thoFd  preposterous  charges !  So  he  lit  another 
cigarette,  stretched  out  his  legs  before  the  fire,  and  told  his  father 
— but  with  certain  reservation,  for  on  one  or  two  points  he  was 
pledged  to  silence — what  had  happened  down  at  Mendover. 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Commnnist-capital- 
ist,  with  a  certain  coli  severity  of  tone.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear 
that  you  begin  to  realize  what  are  the  serious  interests  of  life. 
You  arc  a  very  fortunate  young  man.  If  yon  are  returned  for 
Mendover  it  will  be  by  &  concurrence  of  circumstances  such  as 
could  not  easily  have  been  anticipated.  At  the  same  time,  I 
think  it  might  be  judicious  if  you  went  down  again  and  hinted 
to  Mr. — ^what  did  yon  say  ? — Simmons  t — Mr.  Simmons,  that,  in 
the  event  of  everything  turning  out  well,  there  would  be  no  need 
to  wait  for  Lord  Musselburgh's  contribution  towards  the  com- 
pletion of  the  public  park.  What  J<ord  Mnr  slbnrgh  is  going 
to  gain  by  that  passes  my  comprehension.  I  can  hardly  suppose 
that  he  made  such  a  promise  in  order  to  secure  your  election ; 
that,  indeed,  would  be  a  wild  freak  of  generosity ;  lo  wild  as  to 


•Ml 


RM 


rom 

lOB  electoral,  reforms 
all  the  wl.ile  he  was 
laps  whiit  yon  say  is 
to  the  dovil,  with  the 
I  have  a  few  more  A's; 
[  died  without  them, 
io  ask,  Is  your  private 
ary  would  yon  propose 
te  ask  those  questions 
ho  was  in  no  hurry — 

to  the  drawing-room ; 
;,  until  it  was  time  for 
}  son  found  themselves 
en  father  and  son  had 
morning  on  which  the 
t  old  George  Bethunc 
ion  Vincent  was  in  a 

He  was  pleased  with 
prden;  he  looked  f or- 
is early  chance  of  gct- 
ts  the  use  of  attaching 
^es !  So  he  lit  another 
Sre,  and  told  his  father 
I  or  two  points  he  was 
own  at  Mendover. 
he  Commnnist-capital- 
"  I  am  glad  to  hear 
rions  interests  of  life, 
f  you  are  returned  for 
circumstances  such  as 

At  the  same  time,  I 
own  again  and  hinted 
-Mr.  Simmons,  that,  in 
here  would  be  no  need 
tion  towards  the  com- 
Mnr  9lburgh  is  going 

I  can  hardly  suppose 
secure  your  election; 
lerosity ;  so  wild  as  to 


iTA«0   VAST,  OBAIU-BOTSTOItl 

be  incredible.  Howerer,"  continued  Mr.  Harris,  in  his  pedantio 
and  sententious  manner,  "  it  is  unnecessary  to  seek  for  motivea. 
We  do  not  need  to  be  indebted  to  him.  I  consider  that  it  is  of 
the  greatest  importance  that  yon  should  enter  Parliament  at  an 
early  age,  and  I  am  willing  to  pay.  Mendover  ought  to  be  a  seours 
seat  if  it  is  kept  warm.  Promise  them  what  you  like — I  will  see  to 
the  rest  There  are  other  things  besides  a  park,  if  they  prefer 
to  keep  Lord  Musselburgh  to  his  promise — a  free  library,  for 
example ;  if  tLey  have  one  already,  another  one ;  a  club-bouse 
for  the  foot-ball  club,  a  pavilion  for  the  cricketers,  a  refresh- 
ment-tent for  the  tennis-ground,  a  band  to  play  on  the  sum- 
mer evenings — a  number  of  things  of  that  kind  that  you  could 
discover  from  your  friend  the  solicitor." 

Vincent  could  have  laughed  had  he  dared.  Here  he  was  in- 
vited to  play  the  part  of  a  great  local  magnate,  plutocrat,  and 
benbfactor,  and  it  was  less  than  half  an  hour  ago  that  he  had 
been  anxiously  wondering  whether  £200  a  year  or  £260  a  year 
would  be  the  probable  salary  of  Mr.  Ogden's  private  secretary. 
Uariand  Harris  went  on : 

"  It  is  so  rarely  that  such  an  oppoi^unity  occurs — in  England 
at  least — that  one  must  not  be  niggardly  in  welcoming  it.  Sim- 
mons— did  you  say  Simmons? — is  clearly  of  importance.  If 
you  make  him  your  agent  in  these  negotiations,  that  will  be 
enough  for  him ;  he  will  look  after  himself.  And  he  will  Jceep 
yon  safe ;  the  elected  member  may  steal  a  horse,  whereas  as  a 
candidate  he  iaren't  look  over  the  hedge.  And  once  you  aro 
embarked  on  a  career  of  public  usefulness — " 

"  Bribery,  do  you  mean !"  said  Vincent,  meekly. 

"  I  refer  to  the  House  of  Commons ;  once  you  have  your  ca- 
reer open  to  you,  yon  will  be  able  to  show  whether  the  training 
yon  have  undergone  has  been  the  right  one,  or  whether  the  or- 
dinary scholastic  routine — ^mized  up  with  monkish  traditions- 
would  have  been  preferable.  At  all  events,  yon  have  seen  the 
world.  You  have  seen  men,  and  their  interests  and  occupations, 
not  a  parcel  of  grown-up  school-boys  playing  games."  And 
thereupon  he  bade  Vincent  good-night. 

A  day  or  two  passed.  Vincent  was  still  making  discreet  in- 
quiries as  to  how  a  yonng  man,  with  some  little  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  a  trifle  of  capital  at  his  back,  but  with  no  specific  profes- 
sional training,  could  best  set  to  work  to  earn  a  moderate  income 


iM 


■TARD   FAIT,  OKAIO-ROmOK  I 


for  himself ;  and  hIbo  ho  was  sounding  one  or  two  editon  for 
whom  he  had  done  some  casual  work  as  to  whether  employment 
of  a  more  permanent  kind  might  be  procurable.  Moreover,  h« 
had  ordered  the  little  brooch  for  Maisrie — a  tiny  white  dovt 
this  was,  in  mother-of-pearl,  on  a  transverse  narrow  band  of  ra- 
bies ;  and  besides  that  he  bad  picked  up  a  few  things  with  which 
to  make  her  room  a  little  prettier  when  she  should  return  to 
town.  Some  of  the  latter,  indeed,  which  wore  fit  for  immediate 
installation,  he  had  already  sent  home ;  and  one  afternoon  lip 
thought  ho  might  as  woll  go  up  and  see  what  Mrs.  Hobson  had 
done  with  them. 

It  was  the  landlady's  husband  who  opened  the  door;  and 
even  as  ho  ushered  tho  young  roan  up  to  the  parlor  ho  had  be- 
gun his  story,  which  was  so  confused  and  disconnected  and  in- 
clined to  tears  that  Vincent  instantly  suspected  gin. 

"  Lor'  bless  ye,  sir,  we  'ev  bin  in  such  a  sad  quandary,  to  bo 
sure,  and  right  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  sir,  with  them  things  a-com- 
in'  'ome,  and  you  was  so  particular  about  not  a  word  to  be  said ; 
and  there  was  the  missis,  a  'angin'  of  'em  up,  and  the  beautiful 
counterpare,  all  spread  out  so  neat  and  tidy.  *  Why,'  says  she, 
'  the  queen  on  the  throne  she  ain't  got  nothin'  more  splendid  1 
Which  he  is  the  most  generous  young  genelman,  and  jest  as 
good  as  he'c  ansome ' — beggin'  your  pardon,  sir,  for  women 
will  talk ;  and  then  in  the  middle  of  it  hall  here  comes  the  old 
genelman  as  we  were  not  expecting  of  'im,  sir — ah,  sir,  a  great 
man,  a  wonderful  man,  sir,  in  sorrowful  sikkumstances — and  tho 
young  lady,  too,  and  hall  to  bo  settled  up  rog'lar — oh,  hevory- 
think,  sir — like  a  genelman — " 

"  What  the  mischief  are  you  talking  about?"  said  Vincent,  in 
his  bewilderment  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Bethnno  and 
Miss  Bethone  hare  been  in  London  t" 

'*  Yesterday,  sir,  yesterday,  more's  the  pity,  sir,  to  give  up 
their  rooms  for  good  and  hall,  for  never  again  shall  we  'ev  sich 
lodgers  in  this  poor  'ouse.  A  honor,  sir,  as  was  least  knowed 
when  it  was  most  appreciated,  as  one  might  say,  sir ;  a  man  like 
that,  sir,  a  great  man,  sir,  though  awaitin'  his  time,  like  many  oth- 
ers, and  'oldin'  'is  'ead  'igh  against  fate  and  fortune  whatever  the 
world  might  say.  And  the  young  lady — beautiful  she  was,  as 
you  know,  sir — as  yov  know,  sir — and  as  good  as  gold— wcU, 
never  again — in  this  poor  'ousc." 


IM 


VI 


■TAVO   WMMt,  OIUKHBOTITOiri 


S87 


or  two  editon  for 
hether  enploTment 
ible.  Moreover,  he 
-«  tiny  white  don 
narrow  band  of  ra- 
w  things  with  which 
le  should  return  to 
re  fit  for  immediate 
d  one  afternoon  he 
ftt  Mrs.  Hobson  had 

ned  the  door;  and 
le  parlor  he  had  bo< 
iisconnocted  and  in< 
ted  gin. 

sad  quandary,  to  bo 
t  them  things  a^coni- 
t  a  word  to  be  said ; 
p,  and  the  beaatiful 
.  •  Why,'  says  she, 
hin'  more  splendid! 
inelman,  and  jest  as 
^on,  sir,  for  women 
lere  comes  the  old 
sir — ah,  sir,  a  great 
.nmstances — and  the 
rog'lar — oh,  hevory- 

it  f"  said  Vincent,  in 
lat  Mr.  Bothnne  and 

>ity,  sir,  to  give  ap 
n  shall  we  'ev  sich 
was  least  knowed 
say,  sir ;  a  man  like 
time,  like  many  oth- 
ortune  whatever  the 
eautif  ul  she  was,  as 
;ood  as  gold-— well, 


"  Look  here,"  said  Vincent,  impatiently,  for  this  rigmarole 
threatened  at  any  moment  to  dissolve  in  maudlin  weeping, 
"  will  you  answer  me  one  question :  Am  I  to  understand 
that  Mr.  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter  are  not  coming  back 
hero?" 

•<  Indeed,  no,  sir,  more's  the  pity,  sir ;  it  was  a  honor  to  this 
poor  'ouse,  and  heverything  paid  up  like  a  gonolman,  though 
many's  the  time  I  was  sayin'  to  the  missis  as  she  needn't  be  so 

wd."  »...,:..  ^^-.. .,...,  .^ 

"  Whore  have  they  goiie,  then  f*  the  younger  man  demanded 
peremptorily. 

"  Lor'  bless  ye,  sir  I  it  took  me  all  of  a  suddent ;  they  didn't 
say  nothin'  about  that,  sir,  and  I  was  that  upset,  pir." 

Vincent  glanced  at,  hiu  watch,  five  minutes  past  four  was  the 
time. 

"  Oh,  I  SCO,"  he  said,  with  a  fine  carelessness  (for  there  were 
wild  and  alarming  suspicions  darting  through  his  brain). 
"  They're  going  to  remain  in  Brighton,  I  dare  say.  Well,  good- 
bye, Hobson !  About  those  bits  of  things  I  sent  up :  you  keep 
them  for  yourself ;  tell  Mrs.  Hobson  I  make  her  a  present  of 
them ;  you  needn't  say  anything  abont  them  to  anybody." 

Uo  left  the  house.  He  quickly  crossed  tho  street  and  went 
up  to  his  own  rooms.  The  table  there  was  a  blank — he  had  al- 
most expected  as  much.  Then  he  went  out  again,  hailed  a  han- 
som, drove  down  to  Victoria  Station,  and  caught  the  4:30  train 
to  Brighton.  When  he  reached  the  lodging-house  in  German 
Place  he  hardly  dared  knock ;  hr,  seemed  to  know  already  what 
was  meant  by  this  hurried  aud  stealthy  departure.  His  worst 
fearB  were  immediately  confirmed.  Mr.  Bethune — Miss  Bethune 
— had  left  the  previous  morning.  And  did  no  one  know  whither 
they  had  gone  t  No  one.  And  there  was  no  message,  no  let- 
ter, for  any  one  who  might  calif  There  was  no  message,  no 
letter.  > 

The  young  man  turned  away.  It  was  raining;  he  did  not 
seem  to  care.  Out  there  in  thb  dark  was  the  solitary  light  at 
the  end  of  the  pier.  Why,  how  many  days  had  gone  by  sinoa 
she  had  said  to  him,  with  tears  running  down  her  cheeks,  "Vin- 
cent, I  love  yoQ  I  I  love  yon  t  You  are  my  dearest  in  all  the 
world !  Remember  that  idways  T  And  what  was  this  that  she 
had  done  f  for  that  it  was  of  her  doing  ho  had  no  manner  of 


888 


■TAND   tAtT,  OkAIO-aOTtTOMI 


doabt  Enoagb.  Hii  hetrt,  that  had  many  *  tim*  bMn  mortd 
to  pity  by  ber  ■oiitMrineM,  ber  friendleuneM,  bad  no  mora  pity 
now.  Prid«  rose  in  ita  place — pride  and  reproach  and  ■corn. 
There  waa  bat  the  one  indignant  cry  ringing  in  bia  ean — "  FalH 
lore— false  love  and  traitress !" 

'  ■'srwa'^  ;.j'K  ,.  ■  'tut  w-rpvfA.tJH^,  ^ 


CHAPTER  XVIII; 

m   VAIN  —  IN   VAIir. 


Oni  erening  Mr.  Courtnay  Fox,  the  London  correspondent  of 
the  Edinburgh  Chronicle,  was  as  usual  in  his  own  room  in  the 
office  in  Fleet  street,  «hon  a  card  was  brought  to  him, 

"  Show  the  gentleman  np,"  said  he  to  the  boy. 

A  couple  of  seconds  thereafter  Vincent  Harris  made  his  sp- 
pearancei 

•'  Mr.  Fox  t"  said  he,  inquiringly. 

The  heavy-built  journalist  did  not  rise  to  receive  his  visitor; 
he  merely  said : 

"  Take  a  chair.     What  can  I  do  for  you  t" 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Vincent ;  '*  I  don't  wish  to  detain  yoo 
mora  than  a  moment  I  only  wanted  to  see  if  you  could  give 
me  any  information  about  Mr.  George  Bethune." 

**  WeU,  that  would  be  only  fair,"  said  the  big,  ungainly  man 
with  the  small,  keen  blue  eyes  glinting  behind  spectacles ;  "  that 
would  be  only  a  fair  exchange,  considering  I  remember  ''ow  Mr. 
Bethune  came  down  here  one  night  and  asked  for  infokiiiwiion 
about  yoo." 

Vincent  looked  astonished. 

"And  I  was  able,"  continued  Mr.  Fox,  "to  give  bim  all  the 
information  he  carad  for — namely,  that  yon  wero  the  son  of  a 
very  rich  man.    I  presume  that  was  all  he  wanted  to  know." 

Then  was  something  in  the  tone  of  this  speech — a  familiarity 
bordering  on  insolence — thnt  Vincent  angrily  resented ;  but  h« 
was  wise  enough  to  show  nothing.  His  sole  anxiety  was  to 
have  news  of  Maisrie  and  her  grandfather.  Tfaia  man'i  manner 
did  not  concern  him  much. 
.   "I  do  not  ask  for  information  about  Mr.  Bethane  himself.    I 


■TAin>  FAIT,  OAAto-iornoii  I 


I  tinM  b««n  mored 

had  DO  mora  pitj 

iproMh  and  Korn. 

n  bii  tm—"  F»1h 


on  corroipondent  of 
M  own  room  in  the 
;ht  to  him. 

>  boy. 

Uarris  made  bin  ap- 

>  receive  hiiTiaitor; 

I" 

wish  to  detain  yoa 
eo  if  you  could  gWe 
lune." 

big,  ungainly  man 
ind  spectacle*;  "that 

remember  ^ow  Mr. 
aked  for  infok^iMtion 

<«  to  give  bim  all  the 
ou  were  the  son  of  a 
waited  to  know." 
speech— a  familiarity 
rily  resented;  buth« 
sole  anxiety  wm  to 
This  man's  manner 

'.  Bethone  himself.    I 


dare  say  I  know  him  as  well  as  most  do,"  said  he,  with  psrfset 
calmness.     *'  I  only  wish  to  know  where  he  is." 

"  I  dou't  know  where  he  is,"  said  the  burly  correspondent, 
examining  the  stranger  with  his  amall,  shrewd  eyes ;  "  but  1 
(guarantee  that,  wherever  he  is,  he  is  living  on  the  best— -shooting 
»tiig»  in  ScotUnd  moat  likely." 

"  They  don't  nboot  sta{,'«  in  December,"  said  Vincent,  briefly. 

*'  Or  careering  down  the  Mediterranean  in  a  yacht  Oti  1  an 
auxiliary  screw  would  come  in  handy  for  the  old  m«ui,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Fox,  grinning  at  his  own  gay  facetiousness.  "  Any* 
bow,  wherever  ho  is,  I'll  bet  he's  enjoying  himself  and  living  on 
the  fat  of  the  land — merry  as  a  cricket— bawling  away  at  his 
Scotch  songs.  I  suppose  that  was  how  he  amused  himself  when 
he  was  in  8iug-Sing.     Perhaps  be  learned  it  there." 

"  I  thought  yon  would  probably  know  where  he  is,"  said  Yin- 
cent^  not  paying  much  heed  to  thene  little  jocosities,  "if  he 
happened  to  bo  sending  in  to  you  those  articles  on  the  Scotch 
ballads—" 

"  Articles  on  Scotch  balhds  I"  said  Mr.  Fox,  with  a  bit  of  a 
derisive  Um^\.  "  Yes,  I  know ;  a  collation  of  the  various  ver- 
sions— a  cold  collation,  I  ahould  say,  by  the  time  he  has  got 
done  with  them.  Why,  my  dear  sir,  have  you  never  heard  of 
Professor  Childs  of  Harvard  College  T 

"  I  have  heard  of  Professor  Childs,"  said  Vincent. 

"  Well,  well,  well,  well ;  what  is  the  difference  f '  said  the  pon- 
derous correspondent,  who  rolled  from  side  to  side  in  his  essy- 
chair  as  if  he  were  in  a  bath,  and  peered  with  his  minute,  twink- 
ling eyes.  "  And,  indeed,  it  matters  little  to  me  what  kind  of 
nibbish  is  pitchforked  into  the  Wnkly.  If  my  boss  cares  to  do 
that  kind  of  thing  for  the  sake  of  a  *  brother  Scot,'  that's  his 
own  lookout.  All  I  know  is  that  not  a  scrap  of  the  cold  col- 
lation has  come  here,  or  has  appeared  in  the  Wttkly  as  yet ;  so 
there  is  no  clue  that  way  to  the  whereabouts  of  old  Father 
Christmas,  old  Santa  Claua,  the  Wandering  Scotch  Jew,  if  that 
is  what  yon  want." 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  troubled  you,"  said  Vincent,  with  bis 
hand  on  the  door. 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  bJunt  and  rather  imperti- 
nent fashion.  **  Yoo  and  I  might  chance  to  be  of  nse  to  each 
other  some  day.  I  like  to  know  the  young  men  in  politics.  If 
19       N 


ifiifci(iiipf<»IWit'.Tf|'>tWMMfffM|)gy>i 


290 


BTAITD   rAST,  0BAIO-B0T8T0K I 


r-i- 


I 


%  / 


I 


I  can  do  yoa  a  good  tarn,  you'll  remember  it ;  or  rather  yon 
won't  remember  it,  but  I  can  recall  it  to  yoa  when  I  want  you 
to  do  me  one.  Take  a  seat ;  let's  make  a  compact.  When  you 
are  in  the  House,  you'll  want  the  judicious  little  paragraph  sent 
through  the  provinces  now  and  again.  I  can  manage  all  that 
for  you.  Then  you  can  give  mo  an  occasional  tip ;  you're  in 
Grandison's  Confidence,  people  say — as  much  as  any  one  can  ex- 
pect to  be,  that  is.  Won't  you  take  a  seat  f  Thanks,  that  will 
be  better.  1  want  to  know  you.  I've  already  made  one  impor- 
tant acquaintanceship  through  your  friend  Mr.  Bethune ;  it  was 
quite  an  event  when  the  great  George  Morris  condescended  to 
visit  this  humble  ofBce." 

"  George  Morris !"  said  Vincent.  I:    *  stt&^^f ;  ' 

"  Perhaps  you  know  him  personally }"  Mr.  Fox  said,  and  he 
went  on  in  the  most  easy  and  affable  fashion.  "  I  may  say 
without  boasting  that  I  am  acquainted  with  most  people — ^most 
people  of  any  consequence;  it  is  part  of  my  business.  But 
George  Morris,  somehow,  I  had  never  met.  You  may  imagine, 
then,  that  when  he  came  down  here  to  ask  a  few  questions  I  was 
precious  glad  to  be  of  such  service  as  I  conld ;  for  I  said  to  my- 
self that  here  was  just  the  man  for  me.  Take  a  great  scandal, 
for  example — they  do  happen  sometimes,  don't  they  t  even  in 
this  virtuous  land  of  England.  Very  well ;  I  go  to  George  Mor- 
ris— a  hint  from  him,  and  there  I  am  first  m  the  field — before 
the  old  mommies  of  the  London  press  have  had  time  to  open 
their  eyes  and  stare."  •• 

Vincent  had  brought  a  chair  from  the  side  of  the  room,  and 
was  now  seated ;  there  was  only  the  table,  littered  with  tele- 
grams and  proofs,  between  the  two. 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say,"  he  asked,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  this  man,  "  that  George  Morris  had  come  to  yoa  to  make  in- 
quiries about  Mr.  Bethune  ?" 

"  You  understood  aright." 

«  Who  sent  him  f"  demanded  Vincent  abruptly ;  for  there 
were  strange  fancies  and  still  darker  suspicions  flying  through 
hia  head. 

But  Courtnay  Fox  smiled. 

*'  George  Morris,  yon  may  have  heard,  w<ts  not  bom  yest^^r- 
day.  His  business  is  to  get  out  of  you  what  he  can,  and  to  take 
care  you  get  nothing  oat  of  him.     It  was  not  likely  he  would 


ft 

r  it;  or  rather  you 
u  when  I  want  you 
mpact.  "When  you 
little  paragraph  sent 
«n  manage  all  that 
ional  tip ;  you're  in 
b  as  any  one  can  cx- 
f  Thanks,  that  will 
dy  made  one  impor- 
Mr.  Bethune ;  it  was 
rris  condescended  to 


Mr.  Fox  said,  and  he 
shion.  "I  may  say 
1  most  people — ^most 
I  my  business.  But 
You  may  imagine, 
a  few  questions  I  was 
lid ;  for  I  said  to  my- 
rake  a  great  scandal, 
,  don't  they  I  even  in 
;  I  go  to  George  Mor- 
t  5n  the  field—before 
ive  had  time  to  open 

side  of  the  room,  and 
)le,  littered  with  tele- 

ed,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
me  to  you  to  make  in- 


abruptly;  for  there 
picions  flying  through 


,  WIS  not  bom  yestsr- 
hat  he  can,  and  to  take 
18  not  likely  he  would 


BTAHD  FAST,  0RAIO-R0T8T0N I 


291 


tell  me  why  he  came  making  these  inquiries — even  if  I  had  cared 
to  ask,  which  I  did  not." 

"  You  told  him  all  yon  knew,  of  course,  about  Mr.  Bethune  f ' 
'  Vincent  went  on,  with  a  certain  cold  austerity. 

"I  did." 

"  And  how  much  more  f '  '*^  f#?K'  • 

"Ah,  very  good — very  neat,**  the  spacions-waisted  journalist 
exclaimed,  with  a  noisy  laugh.  "  Very  good  indeed.  But  look 
here,  Mr.  Harris ;  if  the  great  solicitor  was  not  bom  yesterday, 
you  were — in  a  way;  and  so  I  venture  to  ask  you  why  you 
should  take  such  an  interest  in  Mr.  Bethune's  affairs !" 

Vincent  answered  him  without  flinching. 

"  Because,  among  other  things,  certain  lies  havo  been  put  in 
circulation  about  Mr.  Bethune,  and  I  wished  tu  know  where  they 
arose.     Now  I  am  beginning  to  guess." 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Courtnay  Fox  seemed  somewhat  discon- 
certed ;  but  he  betrayed  no  anger. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  with  an  affectation  of  good-hnmor, 
"  that  is  a  strong  word.  Morris  heard  no  lies  from  me,  I  can  as- 
sure you.  Why,  don't  we  all  of  us  know  who  and  what  old  Qeorge 
Bethune  isl  He  may  flourish  and  vapor  successfully  enough 
elsewhere,  but  he  doesn't  impose  on  Fleet  Street ;  we  know  him 
too  well.  And  don  imagine  I  have  any  dislike  towards  your 
venerable  friend — not  the  slightest ;  in  fact,  I  rather  admire  the 
jovial  old  mountebank.  You  see,  he  doesn't  treat  me  to  too 
much  of  his  Scotch  blague;  I'm  not  to  the  manner  bora,  and  ) 
knows  it.  Oh,  he's  skilful  enough  in  adapting  himself  to  his 
surroundings — like  a  trout,  that  takes  the  color  of  the  pool  he 
finds  himself  in ;  and  when  he  gets  hold  of  a  Scotchman,  I  am 
told,  his  acting  of  the  ragged  and  manly  independence  of  the 
Scot— of  the  Drary  Lane  Scot,  I  mean — is  splendid.  I  wonder 
he  doesn't  go  and  live  in  Edinburgh.  They  take  things  serious- 
ly there  They  might  elevate  him  into  a  great  position — maku 
a  great  writer  of  him;  they're  in  sore  need  of  one  or  two; 
and  then  every  now  and  again  he  could  step  out  of  his  uloud  of 
metaphysics,  and  fall  on  something.  That's  the  way  the  Scotch- 
men get  hold  of  a  subject ;  they  don't  take  it  up  »b  an  ordinary 
Christian  would ;  they  fall  on  it.  We  once  had  ai  English  poet 
called  Milton ;  bnt  Masson  fell  on  him  wnd  crashed  him,  and 
didn't  even  leave  us  an  index  by  which  to  identify  the  remains. 


998 


aTAND   FAIT,  ORAIO-BOmOM  I 


Old  Methane  ahonld  go  back  to  Scotland,  and  become  the  Orand 
Lama  of  Edinburgh  letters ;  it  would  be  a  more  dignified  posi- 
tion than  cadging  about  for  a  precarious  liring  among  ns  poor 
Southrons." 

Vincent  paid  but  small  heed  to  all  this  farrago ;  he  was  busily 
thinking  how  certain  undoubted  features  and  circumstances  of 
old  €leoTge  Bethune's  life  might  appear  when  viewed  through 
the  belittling  and  sardonic  scepticism  of  this  man's  mind ;  and 
then  again,  having  had  that  hue  and  shape  conferred  upon  them, 
how  would  they  look  when  presented  to  the  professional  judg- 
ment of  such  a  person  as  Mr,  Qeorge  Morris  t 

"  The  Scc^«h  are  the  very  oddest  people  in  all  the  world,"  Mr. 
Fox  continued,  for  he  seemed  to  enjoy  his  own  merry  tirade. 
"  They'll  clasp  a  stranger  to  their  bosom,  and  share  their  last 
bawbee  with  him,  if  only  he  can  prove  to  them  that  he,  too,  was 
bom  within  sight  of  MacGiUicuddy's  Reeks — " 

"  MacOillicuddy's  Reeks  are  in  Ireland,"  said  Vincent. 

"Well,  MacGillicnddy's  Breeks — no,  that  won't  do;  they 
don't  wear  such  things  in  the  North — any  unpronounceable  place 
— any  kind  of  puddle  or  barren  rock ;  to  be  bom  within  sight 
of  that  means  that  you  own  everything  of  honesty  and  manliness 
and  worth  that's  going — yes,  worth  ;  worth  is  a  sweet  word- 
manly  worth.  It  is  the  prerogative  of  persons  who  have  secured 
the  greatest  blessing  on  earth — that  of  being  bom  north  of  the 
Tweed.  Now,  why  doesn't  old  (George  Bethuue  go  away  back 
there,  and  wave  his  tartan  plaid,  and  stamp,  and  howl  balderdash, 
and  have  monuments  put  up  to  him  as  the  White-haired  Bard  of 
Olen  Toddy !  That  surely  would  be  better  than  hawking  bogus 
books  about  London  and  getting  subscriptions  for  things  that 
never  appear  *  though  he  manages  to  do  pretty  well.  Oh,  yes, 
he  does  pret.^  well,  one  way  and  another.  The  cunning  old 
(iockroach — to  take  that  girl  around  with  him,  and  get  her  to 
make  eyes  at  tradesmen,  so  as  to  swindle  them  out  of  pounds  of 
tea!" 

But  at  this  a  sudden  flame  seemed  to  go  through  the  young 
man's  brain,  and  unhappily  he  had  his  stick  quite  close  by.  In 
an  instant  he  was  on  his  feet,  his  right  hand  grasping  the  cane, 
his  left  fixed  in  the  coat-collar  of  the  luckless  journalist,  whose 
inert  bulk  he  was  attempting  to  drag  from  the  chair. 

<'  You  vile  hound  !"  Vincent  said,  with  set  teeth ;  and  his  no»- 


RTAIID  VAST,  OBAIO-BOTBTOH  t 


S98 


,  become  the  Grand 
tore  dignified  posi- 
ing  among  ns  poor 

ngo ;  he  t/mb  basily 
id  circamstances  of 
len  viewed  through 
8  man's  mind ;  and 
inferred  upon  them, 
i  professional  jadg- 
! 

a  all  the  world,"  Mr. 

own  merry  tirade. 

ind  share  their  last 

em  that  he,  too,  was 

n 

said  Vincent, 
at  won't  do;  they 
iprononnceable  place 
)e  bom  within  sight 
jnesty  and  manliness 
h  is  a  sweet  word— 
ns  who  have  secured 
\g  bom  north  of  the 
thuue  go  away  back 
And  howl  balderdash, 
Vhite-haired  Bard  of 

than  hawking  bogus 
ions  for  things  that 
retty  well.  Oh,  yes, 
r.    The  onnning  old 

him,  and  get  her  to 
lem  oat  of  pounds  of 

0  through  the  young 
k  quite  close  by.  In 
id  grasping  the  cane, 
ess  journalist,  whose 
the  chair, 
et  teeth ;  and  his  nos- 


trils were  diUted  and  his  eyes  afire.  "  I  have  allowed  you  to 
insult  an  old  man— but  now — now  you  have  gone  too  far.  Come 
oat  of  that,  and  I  will  break  every  bone  in  your  body  1" 

Down  came  the  stick ;  but  by  a  fortunate  accident  it  caught 
on  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  the  force  of  the  blow  sent  it  flying 
in  two. 

"  For  God's  sake,  stop  I"  the  other  cried— but  in  a  terrified 
whisper — and  his  face  was  as  white  as  death.  "  What  are  you 
doing ! — are  you  mad  t  I  beg  your  pardon— can  I  do  moref  I 
beg  your  pa:-don — for  God's  sake,  have  a  little  common-flense  I" 

Vincent  looked  at  the  m*n ;  more  abject,  cowardice  he  had 
never  beheld  than  was  displayed  in  every  trembling  Umb  of  his 
huge  carcass,  in  every  feature  of  the  blanched  face.  He  flung 
him  from  him  in  disdain. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  with  a  desperate  effort  at  composure, 
and  he  even  tried  to  put  his  coat-collar  to  rights,  though  his 
fingers  were  all  shaking,  and  himself  panting  and  breathless. 
"  You — ^you  may  thank  me,  for — for  having  saved  you.  If  I 
had  touched  tlut  bell — if  I  had  called  out — you  would  have 
been  ruined — ruined  for  life,  a  pretty  story  for  QnnAiBon  to 
liear  about  his  favorite  prot6g6 — increase  your  chances  of  get> 
ting  into  Parliament,  wouldn't  itf  Can't  you  take  a  bit  of  a 
joke  f — ^you're  not  a  Scotchman  P 

Vincent  was  still  standing  there,  with  lowering  brow. 

"  When  you  are  busy  with  your  jokes,"  said  he,  "  I  would 
<idvise  you  to  keep  any  friends  of  mine  out  of  them — especially 
a  girl  who  has  no  one  to  defend  her.  But  I  am  glad  I  came 
here  to-night  I  begin  to  undentand  in  whose  foul  mind  arose 
those  distortions  and  misrepresentations  and  lies.  So  it  was  to 
you  Gteorge  Morris  came  when  he  wanted  to  know  about  Mr. 
Bethune  and  his  granddaughter  t  An  excellent  authority  1  And 
it  was  straight  from  you,  I  suppose,  that  George  Morris  went  to 
my  father  with  his  wonderful  tale — " 

"  One  moment,"  said  Conrtnay  Fox,  and  he  appeared  to  speak 
with  a  little  diflBculty;  perhaps  he  still  felt  Uie  pressure  of 
knuckles  at  his  nock.  "  Sit  down.  I  wish  to  explain.  Mind 
you,  I  could  make  this  a  bad  night's  work  for  you  if  I  chose. 
But  I  don't,  for  reasons  that  yon  would  understMid  if  you  were 
a  little  older  and  had  to  earn  your  own  living,  as  I  have.  It  is 
my  interest  to  make  friends—** 


994 


8TARD  FAST,  0EAI0-R0T8T0HI 


»',',: 


¥ 


**  And  an  elegant  way  yon  have  of  malcing  them,**  said  Yin- 
cent,  scornfully. 

"And  I  want  to  assure  you  that  I  nerer  said  anything  to 
Qeorge  Morris  about  Mr.  Bethune  that  was  not  qnite  well  known. 
Nor  had  I  tlio  least  idea  that  Morris  was  going  to  your  father, 
or  that  you  had  the  least  interest,  or  concern  in  the  matter.  As 
for  a  bit  of  chaff  about  Scotland :  who  would  mind  that  1  Many 
a  time  I've  had  it  out  with  Mr.  Bethune  himself  in  this  very 
room ;  and  do  you  suppose  he  cared  ( — his  grandiloquent  patriot- 
ism soared  far  away  above  my  little  Cockney  jest?.  So  I  wish 
you  to  perceive  that  there  was  no  enmity  in  the  affair,  no  inten- 
tion to  do  harm,  and  no  misrepresentation ;  and  when  you  see 
that,  you  will  see  also  that  you  have  put  yourself  in  the  wrong, 
and  I  hope  you  will  have  the  grace  to  apologize." 

It  was  a  most  creditable  effort  to  escape  from  a  humiliating 
position  with  some  semblance  of  dignity. 

"  Apologize  for  what  ?"  said  Vincent,  staring. 

« Why,  for  your  monstrous  and  outrageous  conduct  of  this 
evening." 

"  I  am  to  apologize  f"  said  Vincent,  with  his  brows  growing 
dark  again.  "  Tou  introduce  into  your  scurrilous  talk  the  name 
of  a  young  lady  who  is  known  to  me — ^you  speak  of  her  in  the 
most  insulting  and  gratuitous  fashion — and — and  I  am  to  apolo- 
gize 1  Yes,  I  do  apologize :  I  apologise  for  having  brought 
such  a  fool  of  a  stick  with  me ;  I  hope  it  will  be  a  heavier  one  if 
I  hear  you  make  use  of  such  language  again." 

"  Come,  come,  threats  will  not  serve,"  said  Mr.  Fox ;  but  he 
was  clearly  nervous  and  apprehensive.  "  Wouldn't  it  be  better 
for  you,  now,  to  be  a  little  civil — and — and  I  could  promise  to 
send  you  Mr.  Bethune's  address  if  I  hear  of  it  Wouldn't  that 
be  better — and  more  reasonable  f  Yes,  I  will — I  promise  to  send 
yon  his  address  if  it  comes  in  any  way  to  this  office — isn't  that 
more  reasonable  t" 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Vincent,  with  formal  politeness;  and 
with  an  equdly  formal  "  Oood-night "  the  young  man  took  his 
leave.  Mr.  Courtnay  Fox  instantly  hid  the  broken  portions  of 
the  cane  until  he  should  have  a  chance  of  burning  them,  and, 
ringing  the  bell,  called  in  a  loud  and  manly  voice  for  the  latest 
telegrams. 

So  Vincent  was  once  more  thrown  back  on  himself  and  his 


^0:h^^^ii^^'M:^^^';jMiMm^iM.4:i^^  .>:«-■ 


i^:^^;,i^ii'Si  iaf.'N'Wi^;  t 


ing  them,"  said  Yin- 

'er  said  anything  to 
QOt  quite  well  known, 
j^oing  to  your  father, 
n  in  the  matter.  As 
Id  mind  that !  Many 
himself  in  this  very 
prandiloquent  patriot- 
ley  jests.  So  I  wish 
a  the  affair,  no  inten- 
> ;  and  when  you  see 
onrself  in  the  wrong, 
Dgize." 
e  from  a  humiliating 

aring. 

eous  condact  of  this 

h  his  brows  growing 
irriloas  talk  the  name 
1  speak  of  her  in  the 
I — and  I  am  to  apolo- 
for  having  brought 
'ill  be  a  heavier  one  if 
in." 

»id  Mr.  Fox ;  but  he 
Wouldn't  it  be  better 
id  I  could  promise  to 
of  it.  Wouldn't  that 
ill — I  promise  to  send 
this  ofSce — isn't  that 

rmal  politeness;  and 
s  young  man  took  his 
10  broken  portions  of 
f  burning  them,  and, 
ily  voice  for  the  latest 

k  on  himself  and  his 


■mww^*»iwM^iw»ii*MiM'wii*«i<iM  ii"i>iill 


•TAVOt  VAST,  OlUlO-KOTITOiri 


39S 


own  reaonreea.  Daring  these  past  few  days  he  had  aoaght 
everywhere  for  the  two  lost  ones,  and  sought  in  vain.  First  of 
all  he  had  made  sure  they  had  left  Brighton ;  then  he  had  come 
to  London,  and  morning,  noon,  and  night  bad  visited  their  ac- 
cnstomed  haunts  without  finding  the  least  trace  of  them.  He 
went  from  this  restaurant  to  that ;  in  the  morning  he  walked 
about  the  parks;  he  called  at  the  libraries  whf/j  they  were 
known ;  no  sign  of  them  could  be  found  anywhere.  And  now, 
when  he  thought  of  Maisrie,  his  heart  was  no  longer  angry  and 
reproachful  Nay,  he  grew  to  think  it  was  in  some  wild  mood  of 
self-sacrifice  that  she  had  resolved  to  go  away,  and  had  persoaded 
her  grandfather  to  take  her.  She  had  got  some  notion  into  her 
head  that  she  was  a  degraded  person ;  that  his  friends  suspected 
her ;  that  no  future  as  between  him  and  her  was  possible ;  that  it 
was  better  that  they  should  see  each  other  no  more.  He  remem- 
bered how  she  had  drawn  up  her  head  in  maidenly  pride — in  indig- 
nation, almost  His  relatives  might  be  at  peace ;  they  had  nothing 
to  fear  from  her.  And  here  was  the  little  brooch — with  its  tiny 
white  dove  that  was  to  rest  on  her  bosom  as  if  bringing  a  mes- 
sage of  love  and  safety — all  ready  for  her ;  but  her  place  was 
empty ;  she  had  gone  from  him,  and  perhaps  forever.  The 
very  waiters  in  the  restaurants,  when  ho  went  there  all  alone, 
ventured  to  express  a  little  discreet  <iurprise,  and  make  inquiries, 
lie  could  say  nothing.  He  had  Ihe  sandal-wood  necklace,  to  bo 
sure,  and  sometimes  he  wore  it  over  his  heart ;  and  on  the  way 
home  through  the  dark  thoroughfares  at  times  a  faint  touch  of 
the  perfume  reached  his  nostrils,-  but  there  was  no  Maisrie  by 
his  side.  And  then  again  a  sudden  marvellous  vision  would 
come  before  him  of  Maisrie,  her  hair  blown  by  the  winds,  her 
eyes  piteous  and  full  of  tears,  her  eyebrows  and  hishes  wet  with 
the  flying  spray,  and  she  would  say,  "  Kiss  me,  Vincent ;  kiss 
me !"  as  if  she  had  already  resolved  to  go,  and  knew  that  this 
was  to  be  a  last  despairing  farewell. 

The  days  passed,  and  ever  he  continued  his  diligent  search, 
for  he  knew  that  those  two  had  but  little  money,  and  guessed 
that  they  had  not  departed  on  any  far  travel,  especially  at  this 
time  of  the  year.  He  went  down  to  Scotland  and  made  inquiries 
among  the  Edinburgh  newspaper  offices,  without  avail.  He  ad- 
vertised in  several  of  the  London  daily  journals ;  there  was  no 
reply.    He  told  the  hea4  waiter  at  the  Restaurant  Mentavisti 


196 


■TAIID   VAST,  OBAIO-BOTfTOV ! 


that  if  Mr.  Bethane  and  his  gnmddMffhter^— who  were  well 
known  to  all  in  the  place — shoold  make  their  appearanoe  any 
arening,  and  if  he,  the  head  waiter,  conld  manage  to  aend  some 
one  to  follow  them  home  and  ascertain  their  address,  that  wonld 
mean  a  couple  of  sovereigns  in  his  pocket ;  bat  the  opportunity 
never  presented  itself.  And  meanwhile  this  yonng  man,  taking 
no  care  of  himself,  and  fretting  from  morning  till  evening,  and 
often  all  the  sleepless  night  through  as  well,  was  gradually  los- 
ing his  color,  and  becoming  like  the  ghost  of  his  own  natural 
self. 

Christmss  came.  Harland  Harris  and  Vincent  went  down  to 
pass  the  holidays  with  Mrs.  Ellison  at  Brighton,  and  for  the 
same  purpose  Lord  Musselburgh  returned  to  the  Bedford  Hotel. 
The  four  of  them  dined  together  on  Christmas  evening.  It  was 
not  a  very  boisterous  party,  considering  that  the  pragmatical 
and  pedantic  voice  of  the  man  of  wealth  was  heard  discoursing 
on  such  light  and  fanciful  themes  as  the  payment  of  returning 
officers'  expenses,  the  equalisation  of  the  death  duties,  and  the 
establishment  of  state-assisted  intermediate  schools ;  but  Mus- 
selburgh threw  in  a  little  jest  now  and  again,  to  mitigate  the 
ponderosity  of  the  harangue.  Vincent  was  almost  silent  Since 
coming  down  from  London  he  had  not  said  a  single  word  to  any 
one  of  them  about  Mr.  Bethune  or  his  granddau|^ter ;  no  doubt 
they  would  have  told  him — and  perhaps  rejoiced  to  tell  him — 
that  he  had  been  betrayed.  But  Mrs.  Ellison,  sitting  there,  and 
watching  more  than  listening,  was  concerned  about  Uie  looks  of 
her  boy,  as  she  called  him ;  and  before  she  left  th»  table  she 
took  up  her  glass  and  said : 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  yon  two  gentlemen  to  drink  a  toast,  and 
it  is  the  health  of  the  coming  member  for  Mcndover.  And  Fm 
going  to  ask  him  to  pull  himself,  together,  uid  show  some  good 
spirits,  for  there's  nothing  a  constituency  likes  so  much  as  a 
merry  and  good-humored  candidate." 

It  was  clflav  moonlight  that  night ;  Vin's  room  faced  the  sea. 
Hour  after  hour  he  sat  at  the  window,  looking  on  the  wide 
gray  plain  and  the  faint  blue-gray  skies,  and  getting  no  good  of 
either,  for  the  far-searching  doves  of  his  thoughts  came  back  to 
him  without  a  twig  of  hope  in  their  bilL  The  whole  world 
seemed  empty  mad  silent  He  began  to  recall  the  tinse  in  which 
he  used  to  Chink — or  to  f  eai^-tbat  some  day  a  vast  and  solitary 


)Vt 


ITAirO   tkn,  OBAIO-KOTtTOiri 


MY 


ter — who  were  well 
heir  sppeannoe  uy 
osnage  to  send  some 
r  addran,  that  woald 
hot  the  opportanity 
»  yonng  man,  taking 
log  till  evening,  and 
ill,  waa  gradnally  los- 
[t  of  hia  own  natural 

incent  went  down  to 
righton,  and  for  the 

0  the  Bedford  Hotel, 
maa  evening.  It  was 
that  the  pragmatical 
aa  heard  diaconraing 
Miyment  of  retaming 
leath  dutiea,  and  the 
te  achoola ;  bat  Maa- 
gain,  to  mitigate  the 

1  almost  ailent    Since 
a  single  word  to  any 

iddanghter;  no  doubt 
ejoiced  to  tell  him — 
ion,  sitting  there,  and 
ed  about  Uie  looka  of 
she  left  thu  table  ahe 

I  to  drink  a  toast,  and 
Mendover.  And  Fm 
uid  show  some  good 
r  likes  so  much  aa  a 

s  room  faced  the  sea. 
looking  on  the  wide 
Dd  getting  no  good  of 
houghta  came  back  to 
[L  The  whole  world 
leall  the  time  in  which 
lay  a  vast  and  aoUtavy 


sea  would  eomo  between  Maisrie  and  himself ;  it  waa  something 
he  had  dreamed  or  imagined,  but  this  was  dtogether  different 
now ;  this  bUnk  ignorance  of  where  ahe  might  be  waa  a  far  more 
terrible  thing.  He  went  over  the  different  places  he  had  heard 
her  mention — Omaha,  Chicago,  Boston,  Toronto,  Montreal,  Que- 
bec ;  they  only  seemed  to  aikt  the  world  the  wider — to  remove 
her  farther  away  from  him,  and  interpose  a  veil  between.  She 
had  vaniahed  like  a  vision,  and  yet  it  waa  but  the  other  day  that 
he  had  found  her  clinging  tight  to  hia  arm,  her  beautiful  brown 
hsir  blown  wet  about  her  face,  her  eyes  with  love  shining 
through  her  tears,  her  lips — when  he  kissed  them — salt  with  the 
flying  spray.  And  no  longer — after  that  first  and  sudden  out- 
burst of  indignant  wrath — did  he  accuse  her  of  any  faithlessness 
or  treachery ;  rather  it  was  himself  whom  he  reproached.  Had 
he  not  promised,  at  the  very  moment  when  ahe  had  made  her 
maiden  confession  to  him,  and  spoken  to  him  as  a  girl  speaka 
once  only  in  her  life — had  he  not  promised  that  always  and  al- 
ways he  would  say  to  himself,  "  Wherever  Maiarie  is,  wherever 
she  may  be,  she  k  tcs  me,  and  is  thinking  of  me."  This  was 
the  Miipah  set  up  between  those  two,  and  he  had  vowed  hia 
vow.  ^Vhat  her  going  away  might  mean  he  could  not  tell,  but 
at  all  eventa  it  waa  not  permitted  him  to  doubt — he  dared  not 
doabt — her  love. 

Aa  for  these  repeated  allegationa  that  old  Qeoige  Bethnne 
waa  nothing  less  thian  a  mendicant  impostor,  what  did  that  mat- 
ter to  him  f  Even  if  these  charjrea  could  be  oubstantiated,  how 
was  that  to  affect  Ifaisrie  or  himaelf  t  No  association  could 
sully  that  pure  soul.  Perhaps  it  waa  the  case  that  Mr.  Bethune 
was  not  over-scrupulous  and  careful  about  money  matters ;  many 
otberwiae  excellent  peraona  had  been  of  like  habit  Hie  band 
of  private  inquiry  agents  had  among  them  diacovered  that  the 
old  man  had  allowed  Vincent  to  pay  the  bill  at  the  vsriona  res- 
taurants they  frequented.  Well,  that  was  true.  Among  the 
vague  insinuationa  and  assumptions  that  bad  been  pieced  to^ 
gether  to  form  an  indietipent,  here  was  one  bit  of  solid  fact 
And  what  of  itt  Of  what  importance  were  those  few  trumpery 
shillings  t  It  was  of  little  moment  which  paid ;  here  waa  an  ar- 
rangement, become  a  habit,  that  had  a  certain  convenience. 
And  Vincent  was  proud  to  set  againat  that,  or  against  any  eon- 
closiona  that  might  be  drawn  from  that,  the  incident  of  old 
N* 


S08 


■TAiro   FAIT,  OKAIO-BOTITOVI 


J 


l«... 


^' 


George  Bethano's  stopping  the  poor  worim  in  llydo  Park,  and 
handing  orer  to  her  all  he  posseRsod — sovereigns,  shillings,  and 
pence — so  that  he  did  not  even  leave  himself  the  whftrewithal  to 
bny  a  bisoait  for  his  midday  meal.  Perhaps  thrre  were  more 
sides  to  (George  Bethuno's  character  than  were  likely  to  occur  to 
the  imagination  of  Messrs.  Harland  Harris,  Morris,  and'Company. 

The  white  moon  sailed  slowly  over  to  the  west,  the  house  was 
still,  the  night  outside  silent ;  but  there  was  no  peace  fur  him  at 
alL  If  only  he  could  got  to  see  Maisrie — for  the  briefest  mo- 
ment— that  he  might  demand  the  reason  of  her  sudden  flight  I 
Was  it  some  o?erstmng  sensitiveness  of  spirit  t  Did  she  fear 
that  no  one  would  understand  this  carelessness  of  her  grand- 
father about  money  matters,  and  that  she  might  be  suspected  of 
oomplicity,  of  acquiescence,  in  certain  doubtful  ways  I  Was 
that  the  cause  of  her  strange  sadness,  her  resignation,  her  hope- 
lessness f  Was  that  why  she  had  spoken  of  her  "  degradation," 
why  she  had  declared  she  could  never  bo  his  wife,  why  she  had 
begged  him  piteously  to  go  away,  and  Icnvo  this  bygone  friend- 
ship to  be  a  memory  and  nothing  more  f  '*  Can  you  not  un- 
derstand, Vincent  ?"  she  had  said  to  him  in  heart-breaking  ac- 
cents, as  though  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  the  brutality  of 
plainer  speech.  Well,  ho  understood  this,  at  all  events :  that  in 
whatever  circumstancos  Maisrie  Botliune  may  have  been  placed, 
no  contamination  had  touched  her;  white  as  the  white  moon- 
light out  there  was  that  pure  soul ;  he  had  read  her  eyes. 

The  next  morning  Lord  Musselburgh  was  out  walking  in  the 
King's  Road  with  the  fair  young  widow  who  hoped  soon  to  be 
letransformed  into  a  wife. 

"  That  friend  of  yours  down  at  Mendover,"  said  she — "  what 
is  his  n^me  f — Gosford  f — well,  he  seems  an  unconscionable  time 
dying.  I  wish  he'd  hurry  up  with  his  Chiltem  Hundreds,  and 
put  an  end  to  himself  at  once.  That  is  what  is  wanted  for  Yin, 
the  novelty  and  excitement  of  finding  himself  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  Supposing  Mr.  Gosford  were  to  resign  at  once,  how 
soon  could  Yin  be  returned!  There's  some  procedure,  isn't 
there  t — ^the  high  sheriff  or  somebody  issues  a  writ,  or  some- 
thing T 

"  I  really  cannot  say,"  her  companion  answered,  blandly.  "  I 
belong  to  a  sphere  in  which  such  violent  convulsions  are  un- 
known." 


on  I 


MrAVD  VAST,  ORAtO-KOTftOVI 


\n  in  llydo  Park,  and 
ireigns,  shillinga,  and 
elf  the  wherewithal  to 
aps  thee  were  more 
rore  likely  to  occur  to 
Morris,  and'Company. 
e  west,  the  house  wan 
a  no  peace  for  him  at 
-for  the  briefest  mo- 
of  her  sudden  flight  I 
spirit  t  Did  ahe  fear 
essness  of  her  grand- 
tnigbt  be  suspected  of 
oubtful  wayst  Was 
reaignation,  her  hope- 
of  her  "  degradation," 
his  wife,  why  she  had 
vo  this  bygone  fricnd- 
'  "  Can  you  not  un- 
in  heart-breaking  ac- 
lolf  to  the  brutality  of 
,  at  all  events :  that  in 
nay  have  been  placed, 
a  as  the  white  moon- 
1  read  her  eyes, 
'as  out  walking  in  the 
tvho  hoped  soon  to  be 

irer,"  said  she — "  what 
in  unconscionable  time 
hiltem  Hundreds,  and 
rhat  is  wanted  for  Yin, 
mself  in  the  House  of 
to  resign  at  once,  how 
some  procedure,  isn't 
isuec  a  writ,  or  some* 

inswerod,  blandly.  "  I 
it  convulsions  we  nn- 


"At  all  events.  Parliament  will  meet  about  the  middle  of 
February  t"  she  demanded. 

"  I  presume  so,"  was  the  careless  answer, 

"  I  wish  the  middle  of  February  were  here  now,  and  Yin  all 
securely  returned,"  said  she.  "  I  suppose  that  oven  in  the  case 
of  a  small  borough  like  Mendover  one's  constituents  can  keep 
one  pretty  busy  f  They  will  watch  how  you  vote,  won't  they  f 
and  remonstrate  when  you  go  wrong,  and  pass  resolutions,  and 
expect  you  to  go  down  and  be  cross-examined.  Then  there  are 
always  public  meetings  to  be  addressed,  and  petitions  to  be  pre- 
sented, and  people  wanting  admission  to  the  Speaker's  Gallery — " 

"  Why,  really,  Madge,  there's  a  sort  of  furious  activity  abont 
yon  thia  morning,"  aaid  he.  "You  quite  take  one's  breath 
away.  I  shouldn't  bo  surprised  to  see  yon  on  a  platform  your- 
self." 

"  It's  all  for  Yin's  sake  I  am  so  anxious,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
can  see  how  miserable  and  sad  the  poor  boy  is,  though  he  bears 
it  so  bravely.  Never  a  word  to  one  of  us,  lest  W6  should  ask 
him  if  he  believes  in  those  people  now.  I  wonder  if  he  can ! 
I  wonder  if  ho  was  so  blinded  that  even  now  he  will  shut  his 
eyes  to  their  true  character !" 

"  They  are  quite  gone  away,  then  f  her  companion  aaked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  made  answer.  "  I  hope  so— indeed,  I  know 
they  are.  And  on  the  whole  it  was  opportune,  just  as  this  elec- 
tion was  C(  ming  on ;  for  now,  if  ever,  Yin  will  have  a  chance  of 
throwing  off  an  infatuation  that  seemed  likely  to  be  his  ruin, 
and  of  beginning  that  .  areer  of  which  we  all  hope  such  great 
things," 

She  glanced  round  cautiously,  and  lowered  her  voice. 

"  But,  oh,  my  goodness !  if  ever  he  should  find  out  the  means 
we  took  to  persuade  them  to  go,  there  will  be  the  very  mischief 
to  pay.  He  will  tear  us  to  pieces  I  You  know  how  impetuous 
and  proud  he  is ;  and  then  those  people  have  appeded  to  him 
in  a  curious  way — their  loneliness,  their  poverty,  and  their— yes, 
1  will  admit  it— certain  personal  qualities  and  characteristics.  I 
don't  deny  it,  any  more  than  I  would  deny  that  the  girl  was  ex- 
tremely pretty,  and  the  old  man  picturesque,  and  even  well- 
mannered  and  dignified  in  his  way.  All  the  more  dangerous, 
the  pair  of  them.  Well,  now  they  are  gone  I  breathe  more 
freely.     While  (hey  were  here  no  argument  was  of  any  avail. 


§9 


<■■ 


•00 


•film  ¥kWt,  OftAie-BOTITOVI 


Vin  looked  into  the  gitVt  appflaliDg  face,  «nd  everything  wu 
refuted.  And  at  all  events  we  can  aay  this  to  onr  own  ron- 
Bclence — that  we  have  doi.e  them  no  harm.  We  are  not  medi- 
oval  tyrants ;  we  have  not  flung  the  venerable  patriot  and  th^* 
innocent  maiden  Into  a  dungeon,  to  say  nothing  of  breaking 
their  bones  on  a  rack.  The  venerable  patriot  and  the  innocent 
maiden,  I  have  no  doubt,  consider  themselves  remarkably  well 
off.  And  that  reminds  me  that  llarland  Harris,  although  he  ia 
of  opinion  that  all  property  should  be  under  social  control — ^" 

**  Not  all  property,  my  dear  Madge,"  said  Lord  Mnsselboigh, 
politely.  "He  would  say  that  all  property  should  be  under 
social  control — except  his  property." 

"At  all  events,  it  seems  to  me  that  be  occasionally  finds  it  pretty 
convenient  to  have  plenty  of  money  at  his  own  individual  com- 
mand. Why,  for  him  to  denounce  the  accumulation  of  capital," 
she  continued,  with  a  pretty  scorn,  "  when  no  one  makes  more 
ostentatious  use  of  the  power  of  money  t  Is  there  a  single  thing 
he  denies  himself — one  single  thing  that  is  only  pcsible  to  b*m 
through  his  being  a  man  of  great  wealth  t  I  shouldn't  wonder 
a  bit  if,  when  he  dies,  he  leaves  instructions  to  have  the  electric 
light  turned  on  into  his  coffin,  just  in  case  he  should  wake  up 
and  want  to  press  the  knob." 

"  Come,  come,  Madge,"  said  Musselburgh.  "  Be  generous. 
A  man  cannot  always  practise  what  he  preaches.  You  mnst 
grant  him  the  privilege  of  sighing  for  an  ideal." 

"  Uarland  Harris  sighing  for  an  ideal,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison, 
with  something  of  feminine  spite,  "would  make  a  capital  sub- 
ject for  an  imaginative  picture  by  Watts — if  my  dear  b-otber 
in-law  weren't  rather  stout,  and  wore  a  black  frock-coat." 

Meanwhile,  Vincent  returned  to  London,  and  renewed  his 
solitary  search.  It  was  the  only  thing  he  felt  fit  for ;  all  other 
employments  had  no  meaning  for  him — were  impossible.  Bnt, 
as  day  by  day  passed,  he  became  more  and  more  convinced  that 
they  must  have  left  London.  He  knew  their  familiar  haonts  so 
well,  and  their  habits,  that  he  was  certain  he  must  have  encoan- 
tered  them  somewhere  if  they  were  still  within  the  great  city. 
And  here  was  the  New  Year  drawing  nigh,  when  friends  far 
separated  recalled  themselves  to  each  other's  memory,  with 
hopes  and  good  wishes  for  the  coming  time.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  would  not  have  felt  this  loneliness  so  maoh  if  only  he 


wmmm 


■■■-—^ 


•nd  everything  wu 

lii  to  our  own  r«>n- 
We  »r«  not  medi- 
ible  patriot  and  th'* 
loihing  o(  breaking 
ot  and  the  innocent 
rea  remarkablj  well 
irris,  although  he  ii 
'  aocial  control — *' 
I  Lord  Maiaelborgh, 
ty  aboald  be  nnder 

lonally  flnda  it  pretty 
>wn  individual  com- 
ooulation  of  capital," 
no  one  makes  more 
I  there  a  aingle  thing 
only  pcsible  to  b'm 
I  shouldn't  wonder 
I  to  have  the  electric 
he  should  wake  up 

h.  "Be  (generous, 
■eaches.  You  must 
Bal." 

'  said  Mrs.  Ellison, 
make  a  capital  sub- 
if  my  dear  ^'-othe^ 
:  frock-coat.** 
,  and  renewed  his 
»lt  fit  for;  all  other 
e  impossible.  But, 
aore  convinced  that 
r  familiar  haonta  so 

must  have  encoan- 
ihin  the  great  city. 
I,  when  friends  far 

ier*s  memory,  with 
It  seemed  to  him 
lo  maoh  if  only  he 


sTAiio  raar,  caAio-aottroiri 


Ml 


had  known  that  Maisrie  was  in  this  or  that  definite  place— in 
Madrid — in  Venice — in  Rome — or  even  in  some  huge  steamahip 
ploughing  its  way  across  the  wide  Atlantic. 

But  a  startling  surprise  was  at  hand.  About  half-past  ten  on 
the  last  night  of  the  old  year  a  note  una  brought  up-ataira  to 
liiui  by  a  servant.  Ois  face  grew  suddenly  pale  when  he  saw 
tlio  handwriting,  which  he  inatantly  recognised. 

"  Who  brought  thia  T'  he  euIJ,  breathlessly. 

"  A  man,  sir." 

"Is  ho  waiting r 

"  No,  sir ;  he  said  there  was  no  answer.'* 

*'  What  sort  of  man  t"  aaked  Vincent,  with  the  same  rapidity, 
and  not  yet  daring  to  open  the  letter. 

'*  A — a  oonomon  sort  of  man,  sir." 

"  Very  well ;  you  needn't  wait" 

The  moment  that  the  aervant  had  retired,  Vincent  tore  open 
tho  envelope ;  and  the  first  thing  that  ue  noticed,  with  a  sudden 
sinking  of  the  heart,  was  that  there  was  no  address  at  the  head 
of  the  letter.    It  ran  thus — the  handwriting  being  a  little  trem 
ulouB  here  and  there : 

*  DiAS  VivoHT, — When  70a  reoelve  thii  wa  ■tiall  be  away ;  bat  I  bava 
irrangcd  that  70U  shall  get  it  jiut  before  the  Kew  Tear,  and  it  briaga  mjr 
liuirtfelt  wiabea  for  your  happineaa,  aa  well  aa  the  good-bjre  that  I  cannot  iay 
h>  you  pefaonally  now.  What  I  foreaaw  has  come  to  paia ;  and  it  will  ba 
better  for  all  of  ui,  I  think  ;  though  it  ia  not  with  a  vary  light  heart  that  I 
write  thase  few  Uaaa  to  jroo.  Soatetimea  I  wiah  we  had  nerer  mat  eaoh 
otiier ;  and  than  again  I  ahotild  nartr  bare  known  all  your  kindneaa  to  na 
and  to  my  grandfather,  whiob  will  alwaya  bo  aonelbing  to  look  back  upon ; 
and  alio  tiie  coropanionahip  we  liad  for  a  tiote,  which  waa  ao  pleaaant — yoa 
would  underataad  how  pleaaant  to  me,  if  you  had  known  what  had  gone  be- 
fore, and  what  ia  now  likaiy  to  oome  after.  But  do  not  tliiuk  I  repine ;  iMra 
liai  been  done  for  m«  tbaa  ever  1  can  repay ;  and  aa  I  am  the  only  oaa  to 
wliom  my  grandfather  can  look  now  for  help  and  aympatby,  1  aboald  be  aa- 
gmtcful  Indeed  if  I  grudged  it 

"Forgive  me, dear  friend,  If  I  apeak  ao  moeh  of  roytelf ;  my  tlioaghla  are 
fur  more  often  oonoemed  about  you  than  ^ith  anything  that  can  happen  to 
me.  And  I  know  that  tliia  step  we  are  taking,  though  it  may  pain  yoa  for  a 
little  while,  will  be  aalnti.  7  In  the  end.  Ton  have  a  great  future  before  yoa ; 
your  f rienda  expect  much  of  yoa ;  you  owe  it  to  yoaraelf  not  to  disappoint 
tiiem.  And  after  a  little  while  yoa  will  be  able  to  go  back  to  the  plaeea 
where  we  used  to  go^  aod  there  will  be  nothing  but  friendly  reoollectiooa  of 
pleaaant  eveiiinga ;  aod  I  am  aare  nothing  need  ever  coma  between  ua  (aa 
you  feared)— I  mean  In  the  way  of  haviag  kind  tboogfats  of  eadi  otbor,  al 


sot 


8TAWD   rAST,  ORAIOhKOTSTOV  I 


wtyi  and  alwaya;  and  when  tou  marry  no  one  will  more  heartily  wiah  you 
every  happiness  and  bleDsiog  than  I  shall.  This  U  to  be  my  laat  tetter  to 
you— I  have  promised.  I  wish  I  could  make  it  convey  to  you  ail  I  thinic ;  but 
you  will  understand,  dc  Vincent,  that  there  is  more  in  it  ilian  appears  in 
these  stiff  and  cold  words.  And  another  kindness  I  must  beg  of  yon,  dear 
friend,  before  saying  good-bye — and  farewell ;  it  is  this,  Would  you  try  to 
forget  a  liitU  of  what  I  said  to  you  that  morning  on  the  pier  ?  If  you  thought 
anything  I  said  was  a  little  more  than  a  girl  siiould  have  confessed,  would 
you  try  to  forget  it,  dear  Vincent?  I  was  rather  miserable  —  I  foresaw 
we  should  have  to  say  good-bye  to  each  other,  when  you  would  not  sea  it, 
for  you  were  always  so  full  of  courage  and  confidence;  ond  perhaps  I  told 
you  more  than  I  should  Have  done — and  you  will  try  to  furget  that.  I  don't 
want  you  to  forget  it  all,  dear  Vincent;  only  what  you  think  waa  said  too 
frankly— or  hurriedly — at  such  a  moment. 

"  And  now,  dearest  friend,  this  is  good-bye ;  and  it  is  good-bye  forever,  as 
between  you  and  me.    I  will  pray  for  your  happiness  always.       Mamrii." 

"  P.  S.— There  was  one  thing  I  said  to  you  that  you  promited  you  would 
not  forgot.- M." 

Was  he  likely  to  forget  it,  or  any  single  word  she  had  attered 
on  that  wild,  wind-tossed  morning !  But  in  the  meantime  the 
immediate  question  was,  How  and  whence  had  this  letter  come  ? 
For  one  thing,  it  had  been  bi ought  by  hand;  so  tlie*^  was 
no  postmark.  Who,  then,  had  been  the  messenger?  How 
had  he  come  to  be  employed  ?  Wk«t  might  he  not  know  of 
Maisrie's  whereabouts  t  Was  there  a  chance  of  finding  a  clue  to 
Maisrie,  after  all,  and  just  as  the  glad  New  Year  was  coming 
in! 

It  was  barely  eleven  o'clock.  He  went  down  into  the  hall, 
whipped  on  overcoat  and  hat,  and  the  next  moment  wa)  striding 
away  towards  Mayfair;  he  judged,  and  judged  rightly,  that  a 
boon  companion  and  poet  was  not  likely  to  be  early  abed  on 
snch  a  night  When  he  reached  the  lodging-house  in  the  little 
thoroughfare  off  Park  Street,  he  could  hear  singing  going  for- 
ward in  the  subterranean  kitchen ;  nay,  he  could  make  out  the 

raacons  chorus : 

"SijB  Wolaeley,  says  he. 
To  Arabi, 
'  You  can  fight  other  chaps,  but  you  can't  fight  me.' " 

He  rapped  at  the  door;  the  lapilady's  daughter  answered  the 
summons;  she  showed  him  into  a  room,  and  then  went  below 
for  her  father.  Presently  Mr.  Hobson  appeared — quiet  credit- 
ably sober,  considering  the  occasion. 


9Vt 


STAMD   rABT,  ORAIO-BOTtTOM  I 


803 


II  more  hwrtily  -'Uh  you 
U  to  b«  my  Uat  letter  to 
rey  to  you  all  I  think ;  but 
ore  in  it  ilian  appears  in 
B I  muBt  beg  of  yoa,  dear 
Is  this,  Would  yoo  try  to 
I  the  pier?  If  you  thought 
uld  have  confesied,  would 
ler  miserable  —  I  foresaw 
hen  you  would  not  sea  it, 
lenoe ;  and  perhaps  I  told 
,ry  to  forget  that  I  don't 
Mt  you  think  was  said  too 

id  it  is  good-bye  forerer,  as 
ess  always.       Maibrh." 
tat  you  prommd  yon  would 

B  word  she  had  uttered 
t  in  the  meantime  the 
e  had  this  letter  come  ? 
f  hand;  so  the-^  was 
he  messenger!  How 
might  he  not  know  of 
nee  of  finding  a  clue  to 
New  Year  was  coming 

nt  down  into  the  hall, 
xt  moment  wa^  striding 

judged  rightly,  that  a 
sly  to  be  early  abed  on 
ging-house  in  the  little 
hear  singing  going  for- 

he  could  make  out  the 

iie, 

canH  fight  me.' " 
I  daughter  answered  the 
1,  and  then  went  below 
appeared— quiet  creditr 


"  Did  yon  bring  a  note  down  to  me  to>night,  Hobson  f  was 
the  young  man's  first  question. 

"I  did, sir." 

His  heart  leaped  up  joyously ;  his  swift  surmise  had  been  cor- 
rect. 

"  And  has  Miss  Bethnne  been  here  recently  f  he  asked,  with 
the  greatest  eagerness. 

"  No,  no,  sir,"  said  Hobson,  shaking  his  head.  "  That  was 
giv'  me  when  they  was  going  away,  and  says  she,  *  Hobson,' 
says  she, '  I  can  trust  yon ;  and  there's  never  a  word  to  be  said 
about  this  letter — not  to  bany  one  whatever ;  and  the  night  afore 
New-Year's  Day  you'll  take  it  down  yourself,  and  leave  it  fsi 
Mr.  Harris.'  Which  I  did,  sir ;  though  not  waitin',  as  I  thought 
there  wasn't  a  hanswer ;  and  'ope  there's  nothing  wrong,  sir." 

Vincent  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room — not  listening. 

"  You  have  heard  or  seen  nothing,  then,  of  Mr.  Bethnne  or  of 
Miss  Bethnne  since  they  left  f  he  asked,  absently. 

"  Nothing,  sir ;  honly  that  I  took  notice  of  some  advertise- 
ments, sir,  in  the  papers — " 

"  I  know  about  those,"  said  Vincent 

So  once  more,  as  on  many  and  many  a  recent  occasion,  his 
swiftly-blossoming  hopes  had  been  suddenly  blighted ;  and  there 
was  nothing  for  him  but  to  wander  idly  and  pensively  Mway  back 
to  Grosvenor  Place.  The  New  Yeat  found  him  in  his  own 
room,  with  Maisric'B  letter  .  'ore  him;  while,  with  i-ather  a 
careworn  look  on  his  face,  he  studied  every  line  and  phrase  of 
hn  last  message  to  him. 

But  the  New  Year  had  something  else  in  store  for  him  be- 
sides that.  He  was  returned,  unopposed,  for  the  borough  of 
Mcndover.  And  about  the  first  thing  that  his  constituents 
heard,  aftsr  the  election,  was  that  their  new  member  proposed 
to  pay  a  visit  to  the  United  States  and  Canada,  and  that  at 
present  np  date  had  been  fixed  for  his  coming  back. 


mmmmiimmmiiil 


mmm 


304 


STAIIO  rABY,  OSAIO-BOTBTOiri 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


BXTOND    8SAB. 

Out  here  ori  the  decV  >f  this  great  White  Star  liner,  with  the 
yelloir  waten  of  the  Mersey  hipping  in  the  sonlight,  and  a  brisk 
breeie  blowing,  and  the  cnrioas  excitement  of  departure  thrill- 
ing through  Hi  the  heterogeneoas  crowd  of  passengers,  h€te 
something  of  hope  came  to  him  at  last  This  was  better  than 
haunting  lonely  restaurants  or  walking  through  solitary  streets ; 
he  seemed  to  know  that  Maisric  ^ss  uu  longer  in  the  land  he 
was  leaving ;  ahe  had  fled  away  acroro  the  ocean,  gone  back  to 
the  home,  to  some  one  of  the  various  homss,  of  her  childhood 
and  girlhood.  And  although  it  appeared  a  mad  thing  that  a 
young  man  should  set  out  to  explore  so  va<^  a  continent  in 
search  of  his  lost  love,  it  was  not  at  all  the  impossible  task  it 
looked.  He  had  made  certain  calculations.  Newspaper  offices 
are  excellent  centres  of  intelligence;  and  Scotch-American 
newspaper  offices  would  still  further  limit  the  sphere  O/*  his  in- 
quiries. He  had  dreamed  of  a  wide  and  sorrowful  sea  lying 
between  him  and  her,  but  instead  of  that  imaginary  and  im- 
p*sable  sea,  T.hy,  there  was  only  the  fa~Diliar  Atlantic,  that 
nowadays  yon  can  cross  in  less  than  a  week.  And  when  he  had 
found  her,  and  seized  her  two  hands  fast  he  would  reproach  her 
— oh,  yes,  he  would  reproach  her — though  perhaps  theie  might 
be  more  of  gladness  tlian  of  anger  in  his  tones.  ..."  Ah,  false 
love — trutress — coward  heart — ^that  ran  away  I  What  Quixotic 
■elf-sacrifice  was  it,  then,  that  impelled  yon  f  What  fear  of  rela- 
tives t  What  fire  of  wounued  pride  t  No  matter  now ;  you  are 
caught  and  held.  You  gave  yourself  to  me,  you  cannot  take 
yourself  away  again,  nor  shall  any  other.  No  more  sudden  dis- 
appearances— no  more  trembling  notes  of  farewell — while  I  have 
you  by  the  hand  I" 

The  last  good-byes  had  been  called  by  the  people  crowd- 
ed on  the  deck  of  the  tender,  the  great  ship  waa  cautiously 
creeping  down  the  stream,  and  the  passengers,  having  done  with 


\ 


Ill 


STAND  WAW,  OBAIO-ROTSTOiri 


805 


te  Star  liner,  with  tlie 
snnlight,  and  a  brisk 
It  of  departure  thrill- 
i  of  passengeni,  hSte 
This  was  better  than 
■ongh  solitary  streets ; 
longer  in  the  land  be 
e  ocean,  gone  back  to 
tcsB,  of  her  childhood 
d  a  mad  thing  that  a 
0  ▼s'tt  i>^  continent  in 
the  impossible  task  it 
IB.     Newspaper  ofiBces 
and  Scotch-American 
;  the  sphere  o:^  his  in- 
d  sorrowful  sea  lying 
at  imaginary  and  im- 
fa-tniliar  Atlantic,  that 
tV.    And  when  he  had 
he  would  reproach  her 
h  perhaps  theie  might 
tones.  ..."  Ah,  false 
away  I  What  Quixotic 
>af  What  fear  of  rela- 
o  mMter  now ;  you  arc 
>  me,  you  cannot  take 
No  more  sudden  dis- 
farewell— while  I  have 

by  the  people  crowa- 
it  ship  was  cautiously 
ngers,  having  done  with 

\ 


the  waving  of  handkerchiefs  (acd  here  and  there  furtive  dry- 
ing of  eyes),  set  about  preparing  for  the  voyage,  securing  their 
places  at  table,  investigating  their  cabins,  and  getting  their 
things  unpacked.  These  occupations  kept  most  of  them  in 
their  state-rooms  until  closo  on  dinner-time,  so  that  they  had 
not  much  chance  of  examining  each  other ;  but  it  is  wonderful 
how  rumor  runs  in  a  ship— especially  if  the  purser  be  a  cheerful 
and  communicative  sort  of  person ;  and  so  it  was  that  when  all 
were  assembled  in  the  long  and  gorgeous  saloon,  two  things  had 
already  become  known — first,  that  the  tall  and  handsome  young 
Englishman  who  seemed  to  have  no  companioQ  or  acquaintance 
on  board  was  the  newly-elected  member  for  Mendover;  and 
second^  that  the  extremely  pretty  woman  who  had  the  seat  of 
hor.or  al  the  captain's  table  was  a  Mrs.  De  Lara,  a  South  Ameri- 
can, as  might  have  been  guessed  from  her  complexion,  her  eyes, 
and  hair.  It  appeaNd  to  be  a  foregone  conclusion  that  Mrs. 
De  Lara  was  to  be  the  belle  of  the  ship  on  this  voyage ;  such 
things  are  very  soon  settled ;  perhaps  one  or  two  of  the  com- 
mercial gentlemen  may  have  crossed  with  her  before,  and  seen 
her  exercise  her  sway.  As  for  Yin  Harris,  his  uuopposed  re- 
turn for  such  an  insignificant  place  as  Mendover  would  not  have 
secured  much  notice  throughout  the  country  had  itii  not  been 
that,  immediately  after  the  election,  the  great  OrandiaiOii  had 
been  kiud  enough  to  write  to  the  new  member  a  charming  note 
of  congratulation,  which,  of  course,  had  to  be  published.  It  was 
a  significant  pat  on  the  back,  of  which  any  young  man  might 
very  well  have  been  proud ;  and  Mrs.  Ellison  bought  innumer^ 
able  copies  of  that  morning's  newspapers,  and  cut  the  letter  out, 
and  sent  it  round  to  her  friends,  lest  they  should  not  have  seen 
it.  Mr.  Ogden  was  also  so  condescending  as  to  send  a  similar 
message—- but  that  was  not  published. 

Now  during  the  first  evening  on  board  ship,  strangers  mosUy 
remain  strangers  to  each  other,  but  next  morning  things  become 
different— especially  if  the  weather  be  fine  and  every  one  is  on 
deck.  Small  courtesies  are  tendered  and  accepted,  people  get 
introduced,  or  introduce  each  other  on  the  smallest  pretence, 
except  the  old  stagers,  the  wary  ones,  who  hang  aloof,  in  order 
to  pick  viid  choose.  As  for  Vincent,  he  was  well  content  with 
his  own  sooiety,  varied  by  an  occasional  chat  with  the  purser, 
when  that  nbiqnitoas  official  could  spare  a  few  moments.    He 


mmm 


306 


tTAWD   FAST,  CKAIO-BOTSTOIT I 


was  not  anxions  to  make  acqnaintances.  Hia  tbonghts  were  far 
ahead.  He  saw,  not  the  thin  blue  line  of  the  Irish  coast  that 
actually  was  visible  on  the  horizon,  but  the  shall-jw  waters  at 
Sandy  Hook,  the  'broad  bay,  the  long  dnsky  belt  of  the  city, 
with  its  innumerable  spires  jutting  up  into  the  white  sky.  He 
was  wondering  how  long  ago  it  was  since  Maisrie  and  her  grand- 
father had  crossed  the  NewfoundUnd  Banks;  it  was  a  long 
start,  but  he  would  overtake  them  yet  Perhaps  when  be  was 
down  in  the  big  and  busy  town,  making  his  inquiries  from  one 
newspaper  office  to  another  he  might  suddenly  find  himself  face 
to  face  with  the  splendid  old  man,  and  the  beautiful,  pensive- 
eyed  girl.  ..."  Ah,  Maisrie,  you  thought  you  would  escape ! 
but  I  have  yon  now,  never  to  let  you  go  again !  And  if  you 
would  rather  not-  return  to  England,  if  your  pride  haa  been 
wounded,  if  you  are  indignant  at  what  has  been  said  or  sus- 
pected of  yon  and  your  grandfather,  well,  then,  I  will  remain 
with  you  here !  My  love  is  more  to  me  than  my  home ;  we 
will  fight  the  world  together,  the  three  of  us  together,  remain- 
ing here,  if  that  pleases  you  better;  only,  no  further  thought  of 
separation  between  you  and  me  1" 

On  this  brisk  and  bracing  morning  he  was  leaning  idly  with 
his  elbows  on  the  rail,  and  looking  towards  the  distant  line  of 
the  Irish  coast  that  was  slowly  becoming  more  definite  in  form, 
when  Mr.  Purser  Collins  came  up  to  him. 

"There's  a  very  charming  lady  would  like  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance," said  the  officer.  "  Wul  you  come  with  me,  and  I 
will  introduce  you !" 

"  Ob,  very  well,"  Vincent  said,  but  with  no  ^reat  eagerness. 
"Tell  me  her  name  now,  that  I  may  make  sure  of  it" 

"  You  are  favored — Mrs.  De  Lara." 

"Oh,  really,"  he  said,  indifferently.  "She  seems  to  me  to 
have  had  half  the  men  on  the  ship  fetching  and  carrying  for  her 
all  the  morning." 

And,  indeed,  when  he  followed  the  purser  in  order  to  be  intro- 
duced to  this  lady,  m  found  her  pretty  well  surrounded  by  assid- 
uous gentlemen ;  and  "  if  you  please — if  you  please,"  Mr.  Collins 
had  to  keep  repeating,  before  he  could  bring  the  new-comer  into 
the  august  presence.  Mrs.  De  Lara — ^who,  on  closer  inspection, 
turned  out  to  be  quite  a  young  woman,  with  a  pale,  clear,  olive 
complexion  softly-lnstroag  4ark  eyes  that  could  say  a  good  deal,  a 


'tr^. 


iri 

is  thonghts  were  far 
ihe  Irish  coast  that 
e  shallow  waters  at 
ky  belt  of  the  city, 
the  white  sky.     He 
lisrie  and  her  grand- 
inks  ;  it  was  a  long 
erhaps  when  he  was 
B  inquiries  from  one 
inly  find  himself  face 
le  beautiful,  pensive- 

you  would  escape  1 
again !  And  if  yoa 
our  pride  has  been 
as  been  said  or  sus- 
1,  then,  I  will  remain 

than  my  home ;  we 
:  us  together,  remain- 
no  further  thought  of 

was  leaning  idly  with 
ds  the  distant  line  of 
nore  definite  in  form, 

like  to  make  your  ac- 
ceme  with  me,  and  I 

no  3:reat  eagerness, 
sure  of  it" 

She  seems  to  me  to 
»g  and  carrying  for  her 

ler  in  order  to  be  intro- 
lU  surrounded  by  assid- 
you  please,"  Mr.  Collins 
ring  the  new-comer  into 
10,  on  closer  inspection, 
with  a  pale,  clear,  olive 
could  say  agooi  deal,* 


BTAVD  VAST,  0BAI0-B0T8T0N I 


30f 


pretty  smile  and  dimple,  and  magnificent  hair — received  him  very 
graciously ;  and  at  once,  and  completely,  and  without  the  slightest 
compunction,  proceeded  to  ignore  the  bystanders  who  bad  been 
so  officiously  kind  to  her.  Of  course  their  conversation  was  at  first 
the  usual  nothings.  Wonderful  weather.  Might  be  midsummer, 
but  for  the  cold  wind.  Captain  been  on  the  bridge  ever  since 
Liverpool,  poor  man  I  Get  some  rest  after  leaving  Queenstown. 
Was  she  a  good  sailor !  Some  ladies  remained  in  their  berths  all 
the  way  over.  Dry  champagne,  a-~d  plenty  of  it,  the  only  safe- 
guard? Crossed  many  times?  And  so  forth.  But  at  length  she  said, 

"  Couldn'i  yon  find  a  chair,  and  bring  it  along  ?" 

Now  the  assiduous  gentiemen  had  managed  to  find  a  very 
snog  comer  for  Mrs.  De  Lara,  where  there  was  just  room  for  two 
deck  chairs — her  own  and  that  of  her  companion  and  friend, 
Miss  Martinez ;  and  Vincent,  being  rather  shy,  had  no  intention 
of  jamming  himself  into  this  nook.  He  made  some  little  ex- 
cuse, and  remained  standing  with  the  others ;  whereupon  Mrs. 
Dc  Lara  said  to  her  companion  : 

<•  Isabel,  will  yon  go  and  see  that  the  lett«r8 1  left  in  my  cabin 
are  all  properly  stamped  and  put  in  the  post-bag  for  Queenstown. 
Thank  you,  diear  1" 

Then,  the  moment  her  faithful  friend  was  gone,  she  said,  with 
something  of  a  IVench  manner : 

"  Here  is  a  seat  for  you ;  come,  tell  me  what  the  news  of  the 
ship  is." 

Vincent  could  not  very  well  refuse ;  though  the  result  of  her 
open  preference  and  selection  was  that  her  other  obsequious 
admirers  fell  away  one  by  one,  under  some  pretence  of  playing 
rope-qnoits  or  shovel-board;  so  that,  eventually,  he  and  she 
were  left  alone  tocrether,  for  Miss  Martines  did  not  return. 

"  Now,"  said  the  young  grass-widow,  whose  very  pretty  clun 
was  cushioned  on  abundant  furs,  "I  am  going  to  make  you 
bappy.     But  first  of  all  I  must  tell  you — you  are  in  love." 

"  Oh,  really  l"  said  Vincent. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes,  yes,"  she  said,  with  a  charming  insistence ;  "  I 
hava  watched  you.  I  know.  You  keep  apart;  you  look  far 
away ;  yon  speak  to  no  one.  And  then  I  said  to  myself  that  I 
would  make  you  happy.  How  ?  By  asking  you  to  tell  me  all 
about  her." 

Whereupon  Vincent  said  to  himself » *'Voa're  a  very  imper 


808 


ITAIIB  rAR,  OKAlO-ROTSTOll  I 


Unent  woman,  althongh  jonVe  got  pretty  ejes."  And  again 
he  said,  "  Bat,  after  all,  yon  are  a  woman ;  and  perhaps  from 
yoa  I  may  learn  something  more  about  Maisrie."  So  he  said 
aloud, 

*'  The  deck  of  a  steamer  is  hardly  the  place  for  secrets." 

"  Why  not  f '  she  protested.  "  Besides,  it  is  no  secret—  to  any 
one  with  eyes.  Come,  tell  me  all  about  her — and  be  happy  I  I 
wish  to  interest  you ;  I  wish  yoo  to  interest  me ;  and  so  let  as 
talk  about  the  only  thing  that  is  worth  talking  about — that  is,  love. 
No,  there  are  two  things,  perhaps — love  and  money ;  but  love  is 
so  fall  of  surprises ;  it  is  the  perpetual  miracle  Uutt.no  one  can 
understand ;  it  is  such  a  wonderful,  unexpected,  desperate  king 
of  thing,  that  it  will  always  be  the  most  interesting.     Now  T' 

*'  >Y«11|"  Mid  he — for  there  was  something  catching  in  the 
mad  audacity  of  this  young  matron — <*  it  must  be  secret  for  se- 
cret   My  story  for  yours !" 

She  laughed  long  and  heartily,  until  her  merriment  brought 
tears  to  her  eyes. 

"  Why,  Vm  an  old  married  woman  I"  she  exclaimed.  <*  Ah,  I 
see  what  your  bargain  means.  You  only  want  to  put  me  off. 
You  think  the  time  and  place  are  not  romantic  enough ;  some 
night — out  in  mid-Atlantic— with  perhaps  a  moon — and  you'll 
be  more  communicative,  when  you  forsake  the  smoking-room 
for  half  an  hour,  and  send  me  a  little  message.  Very  well. 
Perhaps  there  are  too  many  people  tramping  up  and  down. 
Shall  we  have  a  teamp  too  f  Sitting  still  so  stiffens  one.  There 
—CAU  you  pull  off  the  rugs,  do  you  think  t  They've  swathed 
me  up  like  a  mummy.  Now  give  me  your  arm ;  and  mind  you 
don't  let  me  go  flying — I'm  never  steady  on  my  feet  for  the 
first  day  or  two." 

Well,  he  found  the  grass-widow  a  most  charming  companion 

bright,  loquacious,  and  happy,  until,  indeed,  they  steamed  into 

the  entrance  to  Cork  Harbor.  Here,  as  most  of  the  passengers 
were  going  on  board  the  tender,  for  a  scamper  ashore,  while  tho 
ship  waited  for  the  mails  to  arrive,  Mrs.  De  Lara  began  to  look  a 
little  wistful.  All  of  a  sadden  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  ought, 
if  only  in  common  gratitude  for  her  marked  condescension,  to 
ask  her  if  she  would  care  to  go  also. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  De  Lara,"  said  he, "  wouldn't  you  like  to  go  ashore 
and  have  a  look  ronad  Qneenstown  f  * 


ace  for  secrets." 
t  is  no  secret—  to  any 
ir— and  be  bappy !  I 
est  me ;  and  so  let  as 
ig  aboat — tbat  is,  love, 
nd  money ;  but  love  is 
iracle  thtit.no  one  can 
pected,  desperate  king 
iteresting.  NowT' 
thing  catching  in  the 
must  be  secret  for  b«- 

ter  merriment  brought 

lie  exclaimed.  '*  Ah,  I 
y  want  to  pat  me  off. 
tmantie  enoagh;  some 
ps  a  moon— and  yoa'll 
ake  the  smoking-room 
I  message.  Very  well, 
amping  ap  and  down, 
so  stiffens  one.  There 
ink!  They've  swathed 
ut  arm ;  and  mind  you 
dy  on  my  feet  for  the 

Bt  charming  companion 
deed,  they  steamed  into 
most  of  the  passengers 
;amper  ashore,  while  the 
De  Lara  began  to  look  a 
id  to  him  that  he  ought, 
arked  condescenuon,  to 

n't  you  like  to  go  ashore 


I  •liM'tiiiilUfll'M 


ttAlID  WA»t,  OBAIO>BOTST01I  I 


S09 


Her  face  Iigb*«d  up  in  an  instant,  but  tbere  was  a  carious, 
amused  expression  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  couldn't  go  alone  with  you,  you  know,"  said  she. 

"Why  not  r*  said  he. 

She  did  not  answer  that  question. 

"  If  yon  like  to  ask  Miss  Martinos  as  well  as  myself,"  she  con- 
tinued, *'  Fm  sure  we  should  be  delighted,  and  it  would  bo  very 
bind  of  yon." 

"  Of  course  I  will,''  he  said ;  and  at  once  ho  went  off  in  search 
of  the  needful  companion.  A  few  minutes  thereafter  the  three 
of  them  were  on  board  the  tendrr,  along  with  the  rest  of  this 
crowd  of  eager,  chattering  passengers. 

And  a  very  pleasant  visit  it  was  they  paid  to  the  piotnresqne 
wfitering-placo  and  its  wide-stretching  bay.  First  of  all  he  took 
his  two  guests  to  a  hotel  and  gave  them  an  excellent  Innob,  at 
which  Mrs.  De  Lara  made  merry  like  an  enfranchised  schoolgirl ; 
then  he  got  an  opeu  carriage,  and  they  were  driven  all  about  the 
place ;  and  he  bought  them  such  fruit  and  flowers  as  he  oonid 
find,  until  they  were  quite  Uden  by  the  time  they  got  baok  to 
the  tcndor.  They  were  :n  plenty  of  time ;  the  mails  were  late. 
When  they  eventually  returned  on  board  the  steamer,  Vincent 
was  on  the  whole  very  well  pleased  with  the  little  ezcoraion; 
only  he  hoped  that  the  new  acquaintanceship  that  had  been 
formed  bad  not  been  too  conspicuously  displayed,  for  people 
arc  g\ven  to  talking  dnring  the  loHtfueurr  cf  an  Athmtic  voyage. 

And,  indeed,  it  very  soon  appeared  that  after  this  little  ad< 
venture  ashore  Mrs.  De  Lara  meant  to  claim  bim  as  her  own. 
Wbea  she  came  on  deck  for  the  usual  promenade  before  dinner 
she  sent  for  him  (though  there  were  plenty  of  gentlemen  only 
toii  aaxions  to  wait  on  her),  and  she  took  his  arm  during  that 
perfunctory  march  up  and  down.     Then  she  said  to  him : 

'*  Would  yon  think  me  very  rude  if  I  asked  you  to  come  and 
sit  at  our  table  f  The  fac^  is,  I  want  somebody  to  be  good  to 
tne,  n'ld  to  look  after  me ;  and  the  captain,  although  h(>  is  a 
nios;  delifrhtfnl  man  when' he  happens  to  be  there,  is  neatly  al- 
tvi.j8  awity-^  on  duty,  no  doubt.  I  bate  sitting  next  an  empiy 
chair ;  that  throws  me  on  to  Misn  Martinez,  and  she  and  I  have 
exhausted  all  onr  s  ibjccta  long  ago.  You've  no  particular  friendt 
have  yon !    Come  to  onr  table !" 

*'  But  I  couldn't  think  of  taming  anybody  out  t"  he  protested. 


•>■-% 


■ao 


tio 


■TAan  VAST,  oBAio-Rorvroif  i 


"  Oh,  that's  all  right  I"  aho  mado  answer,  cheerfully  enough. 
"  Miaa  Martines  will  get  a  place  aomewhere  elae — Mr.  Collina 
will  arrange  that  I  dare  say  she  will  be  rether  pleased  to  be  set 
free." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  at  dinner  Vincent  fonnd  himself 
in  the  seat  that  had  been  vacated  by  the  useful  Inabel ;  and  per- 
haps his  promotion  provoked  a  few  underhand  comments  and 
significant  glances  at  certain  of  the  other  tables,  for  very  small 
trifles  are  noted  on  board  ship.  At  all  events,  ho  only  know 
that  Mrs.  De  Lara  was  as  engaging  and  complaisant  and  loqua- 
cious as  ever;  and  that  she  talked  aray  with  very  little  regard 
as  to  who  might  overhear  her.  Nor  was  she  any  longer  the 
merry,  rattle-pated  creature  of  the  Queenstown  hotel.  Oh,  no. 
Her  conversation  now  was  of  a  quite  "anperior  order.  It  was 
literary,  and  she  had  caught  up  plenty  of  the  phrases  of  tho 
rococo  school ;  she  could  talk  as  well  as  another  of  environ- 
ments, conditions,  the  provincial  note,  style  charged  with  color, 
and  the  like.  Nay,  she  adventured  upon  an  epigram  now  and 
again,  or  at  least  something  that  sounded  like  an  epigram. 
*'  England,"  she  said,  "  was  a  shop ;  France  a  stage ;  Qermany  a 
camp ;  and  the  United  Stntes  a  caucus."  And  again  she  said : 
"There  are  three  human  beings  whom  I  wish  to  meet  with  be- 
fore I  die :  a  pretty  Fronchwom  .n,  a  modest  American,  and  an 
honest  Qreek.  But  I  am  losing  hope."  And  then  there  was  a 
tirade  aq^ainst  affectation  in  writing.  "Why  should  the  man 
thrust  himself  upon  mo}"  she  demanded.  "I  don't  want  to 
know  him  at  all.  I  want  him  to  report  honestly  and  simply 
what  ho  has  seen  of  the  world  and  of  human  nature,  and  I  am 
v?illing  to  be  talked  to,  and  I  am  willing  to  believe ;  but  when 
he  begins  to  posture  and  play  tricks,  then  I  become  resentful. 
Why  should  he  intrude  his  own  personality  ai  all  ?  he  was  never 
introduced  to  me ;  I  have  no  wish  for  his  acquaintance.  So 
long  as  he  expresses  an  honest  opinion,  good  and  well ;  I  am 
willing  to  listen ;  but  •  jen  he  begins  to  interpose  his  clever 
little  tricks  and  grimaces,  then  I  say,  -  Get  away,  mountebank — 
and  get  a  red-hot  poker  ready  for  pantaloon.' "  And  in  this  way 
she  went  oti,  whimsical,  petulant,  didactic  by  turns,  to  the  stolid 
astonishment  of  a  plethoric  and  red-faced  old  lady  opposite, 
who  contributed  nothing  to  the  conversation  but  an  indigestion 
cough,  and  sat  and  stared,  and  doubtless  had  fprmed  the  opin- 


ITOMI 


■TAND   FAST,  OKAIO-BOrSTOII  I 


irer,  cheerfully  enough. 
here  else — Mr.  Collins 
rether  plotuwd  to  be  set 

Vincent  :ifoand  himself 
useful  iHMbel ;  and  pcr- 
lerhsnd  comments  and 
ft  tables,  for  rery  small 
I  events,  he  nnlj  know 
compUisant  and  loqna- 
'  with  very  little  regard 
as  she  any  longer  the 
astown  hotel.  Oh,  no. 
raperior  order.     It  was 

of  the  phrases  of  the 
as  another  of  environ- 
yle  charged  with  color, 
n  an  epigram  now  and 
ided  like  an  epigram, 
ico  a  stage ;  Germany  a 
"  And  again  she  said : 
[  wish  to  meet  with  bc- 
odest  American,  and  an 
And  then  there  was  a 
'Why  should  the  man 
ed.  "I  don't  want  to 
rt  honestly  and  simply 
luman  nature,  and  I  am 
g  to  believe ;  but  when 
ten  I  become  resentful, 
lity  Ai  all !  he  was  never 
r  his  acquaintance.  So 
n,  good  and  well ;  I  am 

to  interpose  his  clever 
^t  away,  mountebank  — 
loon.' "  And  in  this  way 
ic  by  turns,  to  the  stolid 
iced  old  lady  opposite, 
ation  but  an  indigestion 
B8  bad  fprmed  the  opin- 


ion that'  any  one  who  could  talk  in  that  fashion  before  a  lot  ol 
Htrangers  was  no  better  than  she  should  bo. 

Dut  it  was  not  of  literature  that  Mrs.  Do  Lara  discoursed  when 
Vincent  returned  that  evening  to  tho  saloon,  after  having  been 
in  the  smoking-room  for  about  an  hour,  watching  the  oommer- 
cinis  playing  poker  and  getting  up  swcepstakeb  on  the  neit 
day's  run.  When  she  caught  sight  of  him,  she  immediately 
roHo  and  left  the  group  of  newly-formed  acquaintances  with 
whom  she  had  been  sitting  m  the  neighborhood  of  the  piano, 
and  deliberately  came  along  and  met  him  half-way. 

"Let  us  remain  here,"  said  she;  "and  then  if  we  talk  wo 
flhn'n't  interfere  with  the  music." 

She  lay  back  in  her  chair  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  begin.  Ue 
was  thinking  how  well  her  costume  became  her— her  dress  of 
black  silk,  touched  here  apd  there  if^ith  yellow  satin ;  the  sharp 
scarlet  dtruke  of  her  fan,  the  small  crescent  of  diamonds  in  her 
jet-black  hair.  Then  the  softened  lamplight,  seemed  to  lend 
depth  and  lustre  to  her  dark  eyes,  and  gave  something  of 
warmth,  too,  to  the  pale  and  clear  complexion.  She  had  erotaed 
her  feet ;  her  fan  lay  idle  in  her  lap.  She  regarded  him  from 
under  those  long,  outcurving  lashes. 

"  They  cannot  hear  you,"  she  said,  perhaps  thinking  that  he 
was  silent  out  of  politeness  to  the  innocent  young  damsels  who 
were  doing  their  best  at  the  piano,  "  and  you  cannot  hoar  them, 
which  is  also  fortunate.  Music  is  either  divine — or  intolerable ; 
what  they  are  doing  is  not  divine.  I  have  been  listening.  But 
good  music — ah,  well,  it  is  not  to  be  spoken  of.  Only  this;  isn't 
it  strange  that  the  two  things  that  can  preserve  longest  for  yon 
associations  with  some  one  yon  have  been  fond  of  are  music  and 
scent  I  Not  painting — not  any  portrait;  not  poetry — not  any- 
thing you  have  read  or  may  read,  but  music  and  scent.  You 
will  discover  that  some  day." 

He  laughed. 

"  How  curiously  yon  talk  1  I  dare  say  I  am  older  than  you, 
though  that  is  not  saying  much." 

"  But  I  have  seen  the  world,"  said  she,  with  a  smile  almost  of 
Badness. 

"  Not  half  of  what  I  have  seen  of  it ;  I'll  answer  for  that." 

"Oh,  but  Tou,"  she  continued,  regarding  him  with  much 
favor  and  kindliness,  "  yon  are  an  inginu  ;  you  have  tho  frank 


819 


STAND   FAST,  C»AIO*BOTITOII I 


Bngliah  character.  Yon  would  bellere  a  g^ood  deal — in  an;|r  one 
yoit  cared  for,  I  mean." 

"  I  rappoM  I  should,"  he  said,  simply  enough.     "  I  hope  so." 

'*  Hot  as  I  say,"  she  resumed,  "  the  two  things  that  preserve 
associations  the  longest,  and  are  apt  to  spring  on  you  suddenly, 
are  music  and  scent.  You  may  have  forgotten  in  erery  othur 
direction.  Oh,  yes,  forgetting  is  rery  easy,  as  you  will  find  out ; 
for '  constancy  lives  in  realms  above,'  and  not  hero  upon  earth  at 
all.  Well,  when  you  have  forgotten  the  one  you  were  fond  of, 
and  cannot  remember,  and  perhapa  do  not  care  to  remember  nil 
that  happened  at  that  too  blissful  period  of  life — then,  on  lotnc 
occasion  or  another  there  chances  to  come  a  fragment  of  a  song, 
or  a  whiff  of  scent,  and  behold !  all  that  bygone  time  is  before 
you  again,  and  you  tremble — you  are  bewildered  1  Ok,  I  assure 
you,"  she  went  on,  with  a  very  charming  smile, "  it  is  not  at  all 
a  pleasant  esperienrr,  Yon  think  yon  had  buried  sil  that  past 
time,  and  hidden  away  the  ghosts ;  yon  are  beginning  to  feel 
pretty  comfortable  and  content  with  all  existing  circumstances ; 
and  then — a  few  notes  of  a  violin — a  passing  touch  of  perfume — 
and  yonr  heart  jumps  up  as  if  it  had  been  shot  through  with  a  rifle- 
ball.   What  is  your  favorite  scentf  she  ssked,  some  what  abruptly. 

"  Sandal-wood,"  said  he  (for  snrely  that  was  revealing  no  se- 
cret). 

*'  Then  she  wore  a  string  of  sandal-wood  beads,"  said  Mrs.  I>e 
Lara,  with  a  quick  look. 

He  was  silent. 

"  And  perhaps  she  gave  them  to  you  as  a  keepsake  t"  was  the 
next  question. 

Here,  indeed,  he  was  startled ;  and  she  noUced  it,  and  langhcd 
a  little. 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  witch,"  she  said ;  '*  all  that  has  happened 
before  now.  Do  yon  think  you  are  the  first  f  Why,  Fm  sure 
now,  you've  worn  those  beads  noA  yonr  heart  in  th^  daytime, 
and  made  yourself  very  uncomfortable ;  yes,  and  yon'  i  tried 
wearing  them  at  night,  and  couldn't  sleep  because  they  hurt  you. 
Never  mind,  I  will  tell  yon  what  to  do ;  get  them  made  into  a 
watffb-ohain,  with  small  gold  links  connecting  the  beads,  and 
when  yon  wear  it  with  evening-dress  every  >voman  will  recog- 
nise it  as  a  love-gift ;  every  one  of  them  will  say, '  A  girl  gave 
him  that' " 


sab 


tout 

good  de»l— in  any  one 

enough.     "Ihopcio" 
ro  things  that  preiorve 
pring  on  you  •uddenly, 
orgotten  in  erery  other 
ly,  M  you  will  find  out ; 
I  not  here  upon  earth  al 
)  one  you  were  fond  of. 
lot  care  to  remember  hU 
I  of  life— then,  on  •omc 
ne  a  fragment  of  a  Bong, 
t  bygone  time  i»  before 
iwildertdl    Ok,  I  awure 
J  amile, "  it  ia  not  at  all 
had  buried  ail  that  past 
a  are  beginning  to  feel 
existing  circumstances; 
wing  touch  of  perfume— 
ahot  through  with  a  rifle- 
aked,  somewhat  abruptly. 
,hat  was  revealing  no  se- 

ood  beads,"  said  Mrs.  I)e 


1  as  a  keepsake  t"  was  the 

^e  noticed  it,  and  laughed 

;  <•  all  that  has  happened 
he  first!  Why, I'm  sure 
)nr  heart  in  the  daytime, 
le ;  yes,  and  you'  i  tried 
eep  because  they  hurt  you. 
,0 ;  get  them  made  into  » 
onnecting  the  beads,  and 
every  v;oman  will  recog- 
iiem  will  say,  •  A  girl  gave 


BTAIfO   »A8T,  0«AI0-R0T8T0H  f 


m 


"  Perhaps  I  might  not  wish  to  make  a  display  pf  it,"said  Vincent 
"  Then  you're  in  the  llrst  stage  of  inconsUnoy,"  aaid   she 
promptly.     "  If  you're  not  madly  anxious  that  the  whole  world 
should  know  you  have  won  her  favor,  then  you've  Uken   the 
first  step  on  the  downward  road  to  indifference.    You  are  regard- 
ing certain  things  as  bygone,  and  your  eyes  are  beginning  to  rove 
elsewhere.     Well,  why  not  I    It's  tlie  way  of  the  world.     It's 
human  nature.     At  the  same  time,  I  want  to  hear  some  more 
about  the  young  lady  of  the  sandal-wood  necklace." 
"  I  have  told  you  more  than  I  intended,"  ho  answered  her. 
"  You  haven't  told  mo  anything ;  I  guessed  for  myself." 
"Well,  now,  I  am  going  to  ask  your  advice,"  said  he;  for 
how  could  he  tell  but  that  this  bright,  alert.,  intrepid  person, 
with  her  varied  experience  of  the  world,  migl.t  bo  able  to  help 
liim  f    She  was  far  different  from  Maisric,  to  bo  sure—different 
08  night  from  day ;  but  still  sho  was  a  woman,  and  she  might 
perhaps  be  able  to  interpret  a  nature  wholly  alien  from  her  own. 
So  she  sat  mute  and  attentive,  and  watching  every  expression 
of  his  face,  while  ho  put  before  her  a  set  of  imaginary  circum- 
stances.   It  was  not  his  own  story;  but  just  so  much  of  it  as 
might  enable  her  to  give  him  counsoL     And  ho  had  hardly 
tiiiishod  when  she  said  : 

"  You  don't  know  where  to  find  her ;  and  yet  you  have  never 
thought  of  a  moans  of  bringing  her  to  you  at  once  f" 
"  What  means  J"  said  he. 

"  Why,  it  is  so  simple !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Have  you  no  in- 
. iitioni  But  I  will  tell  you,  then.  As  soon  as  you  land  in 
New  York,  get  yourself  knocked  over  by  a  tram-car.  The  acci- 
dent to  the  rich  young  Englishman  who  has  just  arrived  in 
America  will  be  in  all  the  papers,  and  will  lose  nothing  in  the 
telling.  Your  father's  name  is  known;  you  have  recently  been 
elected  a  member  of  Pariiament ;  they  will  make  the  most  of 
the  story,  and  of  course  you  needn't  say  your  life  is  not  in  dan- 
ger. Then  on  the  wings  of  Love  tho  fair  one  comes  flying ; 
flops  down  by  the  side  of  your  bed  in  tears ;  perhaps  she  would 
even  consent  to  a  marriage — ^if  yon  were  looking  dreadfully  pale. 
Then  you  could  get  weU  again  in  double-quick  time— and  live 
happy  ever  after." 

She  was  still  watching  him  from  under  her  long,  indolent 
lashes,  and  of  a  sudden  die  changed  her  tone. 


y?-. 


814 


OVAiro  rAST,  ohaio-botbtomi 


"  Are  you  vexed  I  You  find  me  not  sympathetic  t  Perhaps 
I 'am  not  Perhaps  I  am  a  little  increduloas.  Yoa  have  told 
me  vary  little,  but  I  surmise ;  and  when  a  young  lady  remains 
away  from  her  lover,  and  does  not  wish  it  to  be  known  where 
she  is,  then  I  ponfess  I  ^row  suspicious.  Instead  of  '  Seek  the 
woman,'  it  is '  Find  the  man  '—oh,  I  mean  in  motit  cases — I  mean 
in  most  cases — not  in  all — you  must  not  misunderstand  me  I" 

"  In  this  case  you  are  mistaken,  then,"  said  Vincent,  briefly. 

Indeed,  the  gay  young  grass-widow  found  that  she  could 
not  get  very  far  into  Vincent's  confidence  iu  this  matter; 
and  when  she  indulged  in  a  little  pleasantry,  he  grew  reserved 
and  showed  a  disposition  to  withdraw ;  whereupon  she  thought 
it  better  to  give  up  the  subject  altogether.  But  ehe  did  not 
give  him  up ;  on  the  contrary,  she  took  pnssessiot:  of  him  more 
completely  than  ever,  and  made  no  secret  of  the  i'avor  she  be- 
stowed on  him.  For  example,  t^icre  was  an  amateur  photogra- 
pher Ob  board ;  and  one  morning  (eveiybody  knew  everybody 
else  by  this  time)  he  came  up  to  Mrs.  De  Lara,  who  was  seated 
in  her  deck-chair,  with  a  little  band  of  devoted  slaves  and  ad- 
mirers surrounding  her. 

"  Mrs.  Dc  Lara,"  said  he,  "  I've  taken  nearly  everybody  on 
board  except  yea.     Aren  ^  you  going  to  give  me  a  chance !" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  she.  *'  Yes,  certainly.  Then  she  looked  round, 
and  added,  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world,  "  But  whero  is 
Mr.  Harris?"  |.ffe.^ 

"  He's  in  the  saloon,  writing  letters— I  saw  him  vVere  a  min- 
ute ago,"  said  one  of  the  bystanders. 

"  Won't  somebody  go  and  fetch  him  ?"  she  continued.  "  We 
ought  to  be  all  :n-  -if  Mr.  Searle  can  manage  it" 

Accordingly  Vincent  was  cnmmoned  from  below,  and  forth- 
with m.<tde  his  appeariuce. 

"  xou  come  and  pii;  l>y  me,  Mr.  flarris,"  said  the  young  ma- 
tron. "  i^t  would  look  absurd  to  have  one  sitting  and  all  the 
others  standing." 

"Oh, no — this  will  do,"  saii  Vincenl,  seating  hin^aelf  on  a 
signal-cannon  that  was  close  to  the  rail,  while  he  steadied  him- 
self by  putting  a  hand  on  the  shrouds. 

"  Not  at  all  "  she  protested,  with  a  certain  imperious  wilful- 
ness. "  You're  too  far  over ;  you'll  be  out  of  the  picture  al- 
together.    There  i^  Isabel's  chair  over  there ;  fetch  that" 


..Vjytift&^V.^WTfc. 


uSSk 


BTOXI 

sympathetic  t    Perhaps 
alous.    You  have  told 

a  young  lady  remains 

it  to  be  known  where 
Instead  of  '  Seek  the 
I  in  most  cases — I  mean 
,  misunderstand  me  1" 
'  said  Vincent,  briefly. 

found  that  she  could 
dence  iu  this  matter; 
intry,  he  grew  reservtd 
whereupon  she  thought 
ither.  But  she  did  not 
poBsessioL'  of  him  more 
ret  of  the  i'ftvor  she  be- 
ts an  amateur  photogra- 
lybody  knew  everybody 
>e  Lara,  who  was  seated 

devoted  slavey  .fm^.acl- 


STARD  VAST,  OBAIO-BOTBTOH I 


816 


en  nearly  everybody  on 
)  give  me  o  chance  J" 

Then  she  looked  round, 
he  world,  "  But  where  is 

-I  saw  him  vVerc  a  min- 

?"  she  continued.     "We 

anage  it." 

i  from  below,  and  forth- 

ris,"  said  the  young  ma- 
I  one  sitting  and  all  the 

nl,  seating  hiniaelf  on  a 
il,  while  he  steadied  him- 

certain  imperious  wilful- 
je  out  of  the  picture  al- 
there;  fetch  that." 


And  of  conrso  he  had  to  do  as  he  was  bid,  though  it  was 
rather  a  conspicuous  position  to  assume.  Then,  when  that  nega- 
tive was  taken,  she  would  have  the  grouping  altered:  Vincent 
had  to  stand  by  her  side,  with  his  arm  on  her  chair ;  again  he 
had  to  seat  himself  on  the  deck  at  her  feet;  whatever  sugges- 
tions  were  made  by  the  artist,  she  managed  somehow  that  she 
and  Vincent  should  be  together.  And  when,  next  day,  the 
bronze-brown  proofs  were  handed  about,  they  were  very  much 
admired— except,  perhaps,  by  the  lady-passengers,  who  could  not 
understand  why  Mrs.  De  Lara  should  pose  as  the  only  woman  on 
board  the  st«amer. 

But  it  was  not  Mrs.  De  Lara  who  was  in  his  thoughts  when, 
early  one  morning,  he  found  himself  on  the  upper  deck,  just 
under  the  bridge,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  far  strip  of  land  that 
lay  along  the  western  horizon.  Not  a  thin,  sharp  line  of  blue, 
but  a  low-lying  bulky  mass  of  pale  neutral  tint;  and  there  were 
faint  yellow  mists  hanging  about  it,  and  also  covering  the  smooth, 
long-undulating  surface  of  the  sea.  However,  the  sunrise  was 
now  declared ;  this  almost  impalpable  fog  would  soon  be  dis- 
persed, and  the  great  continent  behind  that,  outlying  coast 
would  gradually  awaken  to  the  splendor  of  the  new  day.  And 
in  what  part  of  its  vast  extent  was  Maisrio  now  awaiting  him  I 
—no,  not  awaiting  him,  but  perhaps  thinking  of  him,  and  little 
dreaming  he  was  so  near. 

They  cautiously  steamed  over  the  shallow  waters  at  Sandy 
Hook ;  they  swled  up  the  wide  bay ;  momentarily  the  long  flat 
line  of  New  York,  with  its  towering  buildings  and  steeples 
jutting  up  hero  and  there,  was  drawing  nigh.  Mrs.  De  Lara 
rather  wistfully  asked  him  whether  she  was  ever  likely  to  see 
him  again;  he  answered  that  he  did  not  know  how  soon  he 
might  have  to  leave  New  York,  but  if  she  would  be  so  kind  aa 
to  give  him  her  address,  he  would  try  to  call  before  he  went. 
She  handed  him  her  card,  said  something  about  the  pleasant 
voyage  they  had  hed,  and  then  went  away  to  see  that  Isabel 
had  not  neglected  anything  in  her  packing. 

They  slowed  into  the  wharf,  the  luggage  was  got  ashore  and 
examined — in  this  universal  scrimmage  he  lost  sight  of  Mrs. 
De  Lara  and  her  faithful  companion ;  and  by-and-by  bo  was 
being  jolted  and  pitched  and  flung  about  in  the  coach  that  was 
carrying  him  to  the  hotel  he  had  chosen.    With  an  ei^er  cnri- 


Sl« 


8TAin>   rABT,  OBAIO-IIOrSTOHl 


oflity  he  kept  watching  the  passers-by  on  the  sidewalk,  search- 
ing for  a  face  that  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  had  heard  and 
known  of  many  strange  coincidences ;  it  would  only  be  another 
one — if  a  glad  and  wonderful  one — were  he  to  find  Maisrie  on 
the  very  first  day  of  his  arrival  in  America. 

As  soon  as  he  had  got  established  in  his  hotel,  and  seen  that 
his  luggage  had  been  brought  up,  he  went  out  again  and  made 
away  for  the  neighborhood  of  Printing  House  Square.  It 
needs  hardly  be  said  that  the  Western  Scotsman  was  not  in 
possession  of  a  vast  white-marble  building,  with  huge  golden 
letters  shining  in  the  afternoon  sun ;  all  the  same  he  had  little 
difficulty  in  finding  the  small  and  unpretentious  office ;  and  his 
first  inquiry  was  for  Mr.  Anstruthcr.  Mr.  Anstruther  had  been 
there  in  the  morning,  but  had  gone  away  home,  not  feeling  very 
well.  Where  did  he  live  f  Over  in  Brooklyn.  But  he  would 
be  at  the  office  the  next  day!  Oh,  yes;  almost  certainly;  it 
was  nothing  but  a  rather  bad  cold ;  and  as  they  went  to  press 
on  the  following  evening,  he  would  be  pretty  sure  to  be  at  the 
office  in  the  morning. 

Then  Vincent  hesitated.  The  clerk  seemed  a  civil-spoken 
kind  of  young  fellow. 

*'  Do  yon  happen  to  know  if — if  a  Mr.  Bethune  has  called  at 
this  office  of  late  f" 

"  Bethune  f    Not  that  I  am  aware  of,"  was  the  answer. 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  Mr.  Anstruther's,"  Vincent  went  on,  led  by 
a  vague  hope,  "an  old  gentleman  with  white  hair  and  beard— a 
handsome  old  roan.  There  would  be  a  young  lady  with  him 
most  probably." 

*'  No,  sir ;  I  have  not  seen  any  one  of  that  description,"  said 
the  clerk.  "  But  he  might  have  called  on  Mr.  Anstruther  at  his 
home." 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly — very  likely,"  said  Vincent  "  Thank  yon. 
I  will  come  along  to-morrow  morning,  and  hope  to  find  Mr. 
Anstruther  quite  well  again." 

80  he  left  and  went  out  in  the  gathering  dusk  of  the  after- 
noon ;  and  as  he  had  nothing  to  do  now,  he  walked  all  the  way 
back  to  his  hotel,  looking  at  the  various  changes  that  had  taken 
place  since  last  he  had  been  in  the  busy  city.  And  then,  when 
he  reached  the  sumptuous  and  heavily-decorated  apartment  that 
served  him  at  once  as  sitting-room  an^  Nedroom,  be  set  to  work 


the  sidewalk,  searcli- 
,  He  had  beard  and 
ould  only  be  another 
he  to  find  Maisrie  on 

i  hotel,  and  seen  that 
t  out  again  and  made 
Hoose  Square.     It 
Scotsman  was  not  in 
ng,  with  huge  golden 
the  same  he  bad  little 
ntious  office ;  and  his 
.  Anstruther  had  been 
home,  not  feeling  very 
oklyn.    But  bo  would 
b;  almost  certainly;  it 
as  they  went  to  press 
iretty  sure  to  be  at  the 

seemed  a  civil-spoken 

'.  Bethune  has  called  at 

'  was  the  answer. 
Vincent  went  on,  led  by 
bite  hair  and  beard— -a 
a  young  lady  with  him 

f  that  description,"  said 
m  Mr.  Anstruther  at  his 

Vincent    «' Thank  yon. 
and  hope  to  find  Mr. 

ering  dusk  of  the  after- 

7,  he  walked  all  the  way 

changes  that  had  taken 

city.    And  then,  when 

iecorated  apartment  that 

Sedroom,beset  to  work 


BTAWD  VAIT,  OBAIO-BOTSTOir  I 


Sit 


to  put  his  thi^^  in  order,  for  they  had  been  rather  hurriedly 
jammed  into  his  portmanteau  on  board  ship. 

He  was  thus  engaged  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Bntrez/"  he  called  out,  inadvertently  (with  some  dim  feeling 
that  he  was  in  a  foreign  town). 

The  stranger  needed  no  second  invitation.  He  presented 
himself.  He  was  a  small  man,  with  a  sallow  and  bloodless  face, 
a  black  beard  closely  trimmed,  a  moustache  allowed  to  grow  its 
natural  length,  and  dark,  opaque,  impassive  eyes.  He  was 
rather  showily  dressed,  and  wore  a  pince-nez. 

For  a  second  he  paused  at  the  door  to  take  out  his  card-case ; 
then,  without  uttering  a  word,  he  stepped  forward  and  placed 
his  card  on  the  table.  Vincent  was  rather  surprised  at  this 
form  of  introduction,  but  of  course  he  took  up  the  card.  He 
read  thereon,  Mr.  Joseph  de  Lara. 

"  Oh,  really,"  said  he  (but  what  passed  through  his  mind  was, 
"  Is  that  confounded  woman  going  to  persecute  me  on  shore 
as  well  as  at  sea?").  "How  do  you  dot  Very  gUd  to  make 
your  acquaintance." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  are  yout"  the  other  said,  with  a  peculiar  accent, 
the  like  of  which  Vincent  had  never  heard  before.  "  Perhaps 
not,  when  you  know  why  I  am  here.  Ah,  do  not  pretend ! — do 
not  pretend  I" 

Vincent  stared  at  him,  as  if  this  were  some  escaped  lunatic 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal 

"  Sir,  I  am  here  to  call  yon  to  account,"  said  the  little  foreigner 
in  his  thick  voice.  "  It  has  been  the  scandal  of  the  whole  ship, 
the  talk  of  all  the  voyage  over,  and  it  is  an  insult  to  me — to  me 
— that  my  wife  should  be  spoken  of.  Yes,  yon  must  make 
compensation — I  demand  compensation — and  how  ?  By  the  only 
way  that  is  known  to  an  Englishman.  An  Englishman  feels  only 
in  his  pocket ;  if  he  does  wrong  he  must  pay.  I  demand  from 
you  a  sum  that  I  expend  in  charity — ^ 

Vincent,  who  saw  what  all  this  meant  in  a  moment,  burst  out 
laughing,  a  little  scornfully. 

"  You've  come  to  the  wrong  shop,  my  good  friend  I"  said 
Ke. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?"  the  little  dark 
man  excUiimed,  with  an  affectation  of  rising  wrath.  "  Look  at 
this,  I  tell  you — ^look  at  this  1"   Ho  drew  from  bis  pocket  one  of 


tl8 


MAMD   VAST,  OftAIO-BOTSTOin 


the  photograpbs  which  had  been  taken  on  board  the  steamer, 
and  smacked  it  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "  Do  yon  see  that ! 
— the  scandal  of  the  whole  voyaga  1  My  wife  compromised — 
the  whole  ship  talking !  Yon  think  yon  are  to  get  oft  for  noth- 
ing !  No,  no  I  you  do  not !  The  only  punishment  that  can 
reach  you  is  the  punishment  of  the  pocket     Yon  must  pay.'* 

"  Oh,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself  1"  said  Vincent  with  angry 
contempt  "  I've  met  members  of  yonr  profession  before.  But 
this  is  too  thin." 

«  Oh — too  thin  ?  You  shall  find  out  1"  the  other  said,  vindic- 
tively ;  and  yet  the  black  and  beady  eyes  behind  the  pinee-nez 
were  impassive  and  watchful.  "  There,  en  the  other  side  of  my 
card,  is  my  address.  You  can  think  over  it  Perhaps  I  shal! 
see  you  to-morrow.  If  I  do  not — if  you  do  not  come  there  to 
give  the  compensation  I  demand,  I  will  make  this  country  too 
hot  to  hold  yon — ^yes,  very  much  too  hot,  as  you  shall  discover. 
I  will  make  you  sorry — I  will  make  you  sorry — ^yon  shall  see — " 

He  went  on  vaporing  in  this  fashion  for  some  little  time 
longer,  affecting  all  the  while  to  become  more  and  more  indig- 
nant ;  but  at  length  Vincent,  growing  tired,  walked  to  the  door 
and  opened  it 

"  This  is  the  way  out"  be  said,  curtly. 

Mr.  De  Lara  took  tlie  hint  with  a  dignified  equanimity.' 

'*  You  have  my  address,"  he  said,  as  he  passed  into  the  cor- 
ridor ;  "  I  do  not  wish  to  do  anything  disagreeable — unless  I 
am  compelled.  You  will  think  over  it ;  and  1  shall  see  yon  to- 
morrow, I  hope.  I  wish  to  be  friendly — it  will  be  for  your 
interest,  too.    €rood-night  I" 

Vincent  shut  the  door  and  went  and  sat  down,  the  better  to 
consider.  Not  that  he  was  in  the  least  perturbed  by  this  man's 
ridiculous  threats;  what  puzzled  him — and  frightened  him  al- 
most— ^was  the  possible  connection  of  the  charming  and  fas- 
cinating Mrs.  De  Lara  with  this  barefaced  attempt  at  blackmail. 
But  no ;  he  could  not,  he  would  not,  believe  it  I  He  recalled 
her  pretty  ways,  her  frankness,  her  engaging  manner,  her  good- 
humor,  her  clever,  wayward  talk,  her  kindness  towards  himself ; 
and  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  think  that  all  the  time  she 
had  been  planning  a  paltry  and  despicable  conspiracy  to 
'extort  money,  or  even  that  -she  would  lend  herself  to  such  a 
scheme  at  the  instigation  of  her  scapegrace  husband.    Howevei^ 


>MI 


STAHO  rA8T,  OKAIO-SOTBTONI 


9|» 


n  board  the  steamer, 
«  Do  yoo  see  that ! 
wife  compromised — 
•e  to  get  oft  for  noth- 
punishment  that  can 
.  Yon  must  pay/' 
id  Vincent  with  angry 
rofession  before.  But 

the  other  said,  vindic- 
\  behind  the  pince-nez 
1  the  other  side  of  my 
r  it.  Perhaps  I  shall 
do  not  come  there  to 
make  this  country  too 
as  you  shall  diecover. 
ufiy — you  shall  see — ^" 
I  for  some  little  time 
more  and  more  indig- 
Bd,  walked  to  the  door 


ified  equanimity.: 
lie  passed  into  the  cor- 
disagreeable — unless  I 
and  1  shall  see  yon  to- 
y—it will  be  for  your 

sat  down,  the  better  to 
lerturbed  by  this  man's 
and  frightened  him  al- 

the  charming  and  fas- 
d  attempt  at  blackmail, 
•elieve  it !  He  recalled 
ging  manner,  her  good- 
idness  towards  himself; 
ik  that  all  the  time  she 
spicable  conspiracy  to 

lend  herself  to  such  a 
ice  husband.    However, 


bis  speculations  on  these  pointe  were  now  interrupted  by  the 
arrival  of  the  dinner-hour ;  and  ho  went  below  to  the  table  d'hdte. 

During  dinner  he  thought  that  a  little  later  on  in  the  evening 
he  would  go  along  to  Lexington  Avenue,  and  cat!  on  a  lawyer 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  on  a  former  visit  to  New 
York.  He  might  by  chance  be  at  home  and  disengaged ;  and 
an  apology  could  be  made  for  disturbing  him  at  such  an  unusual 
hour.  And  this,  accordingly,  Vincent  did;  found  that  BIr. 
Oriswold  was  in  the  house;  was  shown  into  the  study;  and 
presently  the  lawyer — a  tali,  thin  man,  with  a  cadaverous  and 
deeply-lined  face  and  cold  gray  eyes — came  in  and  received  his 
unexpected  visitor  politely  enough. 

"  De  Lara  J"  said  he,  when  Vincent  had  told  bis  story.  "  Well, 
yes,  I  know  something  of  Do  Lara.  And  a  very  disagreeable 
fellow  he  is  to  have  any  dealings  with." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  have  any  dealings  with  him,"  Vincent 
protested, "  and  I  don't  see  how  there  should  be  any  necessity. 
The  whole  thing  is  a  preposterous  attempt  at  extortion.  If 
only  he  were  to  put  down  on  paper  what  he  said  to  me  this 
evening,  I  would  show  him  somethiug — or  at  least  I  should  do 
so  if  he  and  I  were  in  England." 

"  He  is  not  so  foolish,"  the  lawyer  said.  '*  Well,  what  do 
you  propose  to  dof  Compromise  for  the  sake  of  peace  and 
quietness!" 

"  Certainly  not,"  was  the  instont  reply. 

"  He's  a  mischievous  devil,"  said  Mr.  Oriswold,  doubtfully. 
"  And  of  course  you  don't  want  to  have  things  said  about  you 
in  newspapers,  however  obscure.  Might  get  sent  over  to  Eng^ 
land.  Yes,  he's  a  mischievous  devil  when  he  turns  ugly.  What 
do  you  say  now  f  For  the  sake  of  peace  and  quietness,  a  little 
matter  of  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars,  and  nobody  need  know 
anything  about  it — " 

"  Qive  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  to  that  infernal  scoundrel ! 
I  will  see  him  d — d  first !"  said  Vincent,  with  a  decision  that 
was  unmistakable. 

"  There's  no  reason  why  you  should  give  him  a  cent — not  the 
slightest,"  the  lawyer  went  on ;  "  but  some  people  do,  to  save 
trouble.  However,  you  vriil  not  be  remaining'  long  in  this  city ; 
I  see  it  announced  that  yon  are  going  on  a  tour  thi-ough  the 
United  States  and  Canada." 


■%iit>rm. 


8S0 


STAND   FAIT,  OBAia-ROTSTOiri 


"  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Qriswold,"  said  Vincent,  **  I  came  along— at 
this  unholy  hour,  for  which  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me — not  to 
ask  you  what  I  should  do  about  that  fellow's  threats — I  don't 
value  them  a  pin's  point — but  merely  to  see  if  you  knew  any- 
thing about  those  two—" 

"ThoDoLarasf" 

"  Yes ;  what  docs  he  do,  to  begin  with  f  What's  his  occupa- 
tion, his  business  t" 

"  Nominally,"  faid  Mr.  Griswold, "  he  belongs  to  my  own  pro- 
fession ;  but  I  fancy  he  is  more  mixed  up  with  some  low-class 
"  jwspapers.  I  have  heard,  indeed,  that  oue  of  his  sources  of 
income  is  levying  blackmail  on  actresses.  The  ;poor  girls  lose 
nerve,  you  understand ;  they  won't  fight,  they  trouid  rather '  see ' 
him,  as  the  phrase  is,  than  incur  his  enn.ity." 

"  Well,  then,  what  I  want  to  know  still  more  particularly," 
the  young  man  proceeded,  "  is  this :  is  Mrs.  De  Lara  supposed 
to  take  part  in  these  pretty  little  plans  for  obtaining  money  t" 

The  lawyer  smiled. 

"  Ton  ought  to  know  her  better  than  I  do ;  in  fact,  I  don't 
know  her  at  alL" 

Vincent  was  silent  for  a  second. 

"No;  I  should  not  have  imagined  it  of  her.  It  seems  in- 
credible. But  if  you  don't  know  her  personally,  perhaps  you 
know  what  is  thought  of  her !    What  is  her  general  reputation  t" 

"Her  reputation!  I  can  hardly  answer  that  question.  I 
should  say,"  Mr.  Griswold  went  on,  in  his  slow  and  deliberate 
manner,  "  that  there  is  a  kmd  of — a  kind  of  impression— that, 
so  long  as  the  money  is  forthcoming,  Mrs.  De  Lara  would  not  be 
too  anxious  to  inquire  where  it  came  from." 

"She  was  at  the  captain's  table  1"  Vincent  exclaimed. 

"  Ship-captains  don't  know  much  about  what  b  going  on  on 
shore,"  was  the  reply.  "  Besides,  if  Mrs.  De  Lara  wanted  to  sit 
at  the  captain's  table,  it's  at  the  captain's  table  you  would  find 
her,  and  th^t  without  much  delay !  In  any  case,  why  areyou  so 
anxious  to  find  out  about  Mrs.  De  Lara's  peculiarities,  apart  from 
her  being  a  very  pretty  woman  t" 

"  Oh,"  said  Vincent,  as  he  rose  to  apologize  once  more  for 
this  intrusion,  and  to  say  good-night, "  one  is  always  meeting 
with  new  experiences.  Another  lesson  in  the  ways  of  the 
world,  I  suppose." 


m 


TOM  I 


WAJTD   f  AST,  CAAI0-B0T8T0V 


Ml 


nt, "  I  came  along— at 
ill  forgive  me — not  to 
ow's  threits — ^I  don't 
see  if  you  knev  any- 


I    What's  bis  occupa- 

lelongs  to  my  own  pro- 
p  with  some  low-class 
oue  of  Lis  soarces  of 
.  The  ;poor  girls  lose 
hey  .Touid  rather  •  see ' 
ty." 

ill  more  particularly," 
Itlrs.  De  Lara  supposed 
t  obtaining  money  t" 

I  do ;  in  faot^  I  don't 

t  of  her.  It  seems  in- 
ersonally,  perhaps  you 
er  general  reputation  t" 
iwer  that  question.  I 
lis  slow  and  deliberate 
d  of  impression — ^that, 
I.  De  Lara  would  not  be 
n." 

;ent  exclaimed. 
ut  what  is  going  on  on 
.  De  Lara  wanted  to  sit 
s  table  you  would  find 
ny  case,  why  areyou  so 
[>eculiarities,  apart  from 

pologize  once  more  for 
one  is  always  meeting 
n  in  the  ways  of  the 


But  all  (he  same,  as  he  walked  slowly  and  thocghtfnily  back 
to  his  hotel,  he  kept  saying  to  himself  that  he  would  rather  not 
believe  that  Mrs.  Do  Lara  had  betrayed  him,  and  was  an  accom- 
plice in  this  shameless  attempt  to  make  money  out  of  him. 
Nay,  he  caid  to  himself  that  he  would  refuse  to  believe  until  he 
was  forced  to  believe,  though  he  did  not  go  a  step  further,  and 
proceed  to  ask  himself  the  why  and  wherefore  of  this  curious 
reluctance. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


WKST   AHD    lAST. 


Whbk  Vincent  went  along  the  next  morning  to  the  office  of 
the  Wettem  Scotsman,  he  was  at  once  shown  into  the  editorial 
room,  and  there  he  found  before  him  a  short,  thick-set  man  with 
a  leonine  profusion  of  light  chestnut  hair  thrown  back  from  a 
lofty  forehead,  somewhat  irregular  features,  and  clear  blue  eyes 
tb«t  had  at  present  something  of  a  cold  scrutiny  in  them.  To 
uny  one  else  the  editor  of  the  Wettem  ScottTnan  might  have 
::ppe{kred  a  somewhat  commonplace-looking  person ;  but  to  Vin- 
cert  he  was  far  from  commonplace.  Here  was  one  who  had 
befriended  the  two  world-wanderers-<-who  had  known  them  in 
the  bygone  years ;  perhaps  Maisrie  herself  had  sat  in  this  very 
room,  patiently  waiting,  while  the  two  men  talked.  And  yet 
when  he  asked  for  news  of  old  George  Bethune  and  his  grand- 
daughter, Mr.  Anstruther'a  manner  was  unaccountably  reserved. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  know  nothing  of  them — nothing  what- 
ever ;  but  I  can  well  understand  that  George  Bethune  m^ht  be 
in  New  York — or  might  have  passed  through  New  York — witli- 
out  calling  on  me." 

«•  Why  I"  said  Vincent,  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  editor,  with  some  touch  of  asperity  and 
even  of  indignation,  "  I  should  like  to  believe  the  best  of  an  old 
friend;  and  certainly  George  Bethune  always  seemed  to  me  a 
loyal  Scot — ^prond  of  his  country,  proud  of  the  name  he  bears, 
as  well  he  might ;  but  when  you  find  him  trying  to  filch  the  idea 
of  a  book — ^from  a  fellow-countryman,  too — and  making  use  of 
the  letter  of  in^Y>daction  I  gave  him  to  Lord  Musselburgh'  to 
get  money — ^ 


89t 


tTAirO   FAST,  CHAIO-IIOTBTONI 


"  But  that  can  all  be  cxplainf '^,"  said  Vincent,  eagerly ;  and 
he  even  forgot  hi»  immediate  disappointment  in  hia  desire  to 
clear  away  those  impntations  I  torn  Maisrio's  grandfather.  "  The 
mouej  was  repaid  to  Lord  Muriel!  irgh  as  soon  as  it  was  found 
that  the  American  1  >k  was  <  uj^^  out;  I  kti'>w  it  was — I  am 
certain  c.  !' ,  nd  "v  " -ttt  j^  x-  I  d  come  tit,  noon  was  so 
anxious  to  welcome  i;  Vi.!  j^is  *;  H  it  he^^ing  hand,  as  Mr.  liethune 
himself.     He  wrr   •  the      if  ■      ■,  'he  JSdinburgh  ChronicU — " 

"Oh,  did  hot"  said  tit^'  x^iior,  i'  .  some  slight  alteration  in 
his  tone.  "  I  am  glad  of  that  \  ..ou  d  sen  it  was  written  by 
some  one  with  ample  knowledge :  in  fact,  I  quoted  the  article 
in  the  ScoUman,  it  seemed  to  me  so  well  done.  Yes,  I  am  gUd 
of  that,"  Mr.  Anstruther  repeated. 

'•And  then,"  continued  Vincent,  "the  old  man  may  easily 
have  persuaded  himself  that,  being  familiar  with  the  subject, 
'  e  WHS  entitled  to  publish  a  volume  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water.  But  I  know  this — tha''.  what  he  desired  above  all  was 
that  honor  should  be  done  to  those  Scotchmen  who  had  written 
aboat  their  affection  for  their  native  country  while  living  in 
other  lauds,  and  that  the  people  at  home  should  know  those 
widely-scattered  poets;  and  when  he  found  that  this  work, had 
already  been  undertaken,  and  was  actually  eoming  out,  there  was 
no  jealousy  in  his  mind — not  the  slightest ;  he  was  only  anxious 
that  the  book  should  be  known  everywhere,  bat  especially  in 
Scotland." 

"  I  can  assnre  you  I  am  very  glad  to  ho'.'*  it,"'  said  Mr.  An- 
struther, wlio  was  clearly  much  fiaollified  by  this  vague  but 
earnest  vindication.  "  And  I  may  say  that  when  some  OTie  came 
hero  making  inquiries  about  Ghorge  Bethuue.  I  did  not  put  mat- 
ters in  their  woist  light." 

"Oh,  some  one  has  been  here  making  inquiries f  said  Vin- 
•)ent,  quickly 

**  About  a  month  ago,  or  more." 

"Who  was  it r 

"I  forget  the  name,"  the  editor  replied.  "In  fa<Sf,  I  was 
rather  vexed  at  the  time  tibont  my  friend  Boos's  bor^k  and  Mr. 
Bethnne  getting  money  from  Lord  Husselburgh,  and  I  did  not 
nay  very  mnch.  I  am  glad  there  is  some  explanation ;  one  likes 
to  think  the  best  of  a  brother  Scot  But  yoa— *yoa  are  not  « 
Scot?"  he  demanded,  with  a  swift  glance  of  inqniry. 


•iKimNinMiiw^ 


'<«jlpi^wi»P"iwi«'i><''.iWMiw<|iW'pwiww  ..npifi  mtm 


HdH" 


•ONI 

Vincent,  eagerly ;  and 
tncnt  in  ^is  deaire  to 
8  grandfather.  "  The 
t  soon  as  it  was  found 
I  kh'iw  it  was — I  am 
me  lit,  no  on  was  so 
5  hand,  as  Mr.  Itethuno 
nburgh  Chronicle — " 
no  slight  alteration  in 
sen  it  was  written  by 
;,  I  quoted  the  article 
ioue.    Yes,  I  am  glad 

i  old  man  may  easily 
iliar  with  the  subject, 
the  other  side  of  the 
desired  above  all  was 
hmen  who  had  written 
>untry  while  living  in 
ae  should  know  those 
nd  that  this  work,  had 
eoming  out,  there  was 
; ;  he  was  only  anxious 
here,  but  especially  in 

har."  it,*'  said  Mr.  An- 
ed  by  this  vague  but 
A  when  some  one  came 
UU4. 1  did  not  put  mat- 

j;  inquiries  f  said  Vin- 


lied.  "Id  fadt,  I  was 
id  Boob's  book  and  Mr. 
lelburgh,  and  I  did  not 
explanation ;  one  likes 
tut  yoa— you  sure  not  « 
9  of  inqniry. 


m       O   rABT,  «RA:a-BOTBTOWI 


828 


«'  No,  I  am  not,"  !►  lid  Vincent ;  '  but  I  am  very  much  inter- 
ested in  Mr.  Bethui  and  b''>  granddaughter;  and  as  thoy  quite 
suddenly  disappe  .  from  London,  I  thought  it  ver-  l.kely 
the/  b-'d  returned  -o  the  United  States.  And  also,  '*  they  had 
.•oiiie  to  i^ew  York,  I  imagi"  -^d  y^u     oniw  oe  sure  to  ku.  w," 

"One  thing  is  pretty  certain,"  said  Mr.  Anstrutfaor.  "If 
Oeorgo  Bethune  is  in  this  city,  he  will  be  heard  of  to-mo.Tow 
evening." 

"To-morro*  ex'cuingf  Vincent  repeated,  vaguely. 

"The  twenty  fifth  1 '  exclaimed  the  editor,  with  an  astonished 
stare. 

And  yet  the  yc  ing  man  seemed  none  the  wiser. 

"  It  is  evident  you  are  no  Scotchman,  Mr.  Anstruther  said  at 
length,  and  with  good-humor.  "  You  don't  remember  that  '  a 
blast  o'  Janwar  win'  blew  hansel  in  on  Robin 'f  The  twenty- 
fifth  of  January — the  birthday  of  Robert  Bums  I" 

"  Oh,  yes — oh,  certainly,"  said  Vincent,  with  guilty  haste. 

"  There  will  be  n  rare  gathering  of  the  clans  to-morrow  night," 
the  editor  eontinaed ;  "  and  if  (George  Bethune  is  on  this  side 
the  water,  he'll  either  show  up  himself  or  somebody  will  have 
heard  of  him." 

"  I  think  he  must  be  over  here,"  Vincent  said.  "  At  first  I 
imagined  he  might  have  gone  to  Ssotland — he  was  thinking  of 
a  topographical  and  antiquarian  book  on  the  various  places  men- 
tioned in  the  Scotch  songs — and  he  had  often  spoken  of  making 
a  pilgrimage  through  the  country  for  that  purpose.  So  I  went 
down  to  Scotland  for  a  few  days,  but  I  could  hear  nothing  of  him." 

"  What  do  you  say — that  you  have  been  quite  recently  in  Scot- 
land f '  Mr.  Anstruther  said,  with  a  sudden  accession  of  interest 

"  About  three  weeks  ago,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Well,  well,  well !"  the  editor  ezchiimed,  and  he  regarded 
the  young  man  with  quite  a  kindly  curiosity.  "  Do  ye  toll  me 
that  I  In  Scotland — not  more  than  three  weeks  since  1  And 
whereabouts — whereabouts  I" 

"  I  was  in  Edinburgh  most  of  the  time,"  Vincent  said. 

"In  Edinburgh t— -did  ye  see  the  Corstorphine  Uillst"  was 
the  next  eager  question ;  and  the  man's  eyes  were  no  longer 
coldly  scmtibizing,  but  full  of  a  lively  interest  aL>  friendliness. 
"  Ay,  the  Corstorphine  Hills :  ye  would  see  them  if  ye  went  up  to 
the  top  of  Nelson's  Monament,  and  looked  away  across  the  town. 


fesss 


'■vt-m^ 


324 


CTAMD   VAST,  OH AIO-ROTSTOIT  t 


away  along  Princes  Street — that  wonderful  view  I — wonderful  I 
when  I  think  of  it  I  soem  to  see  it  all  a  ailvor-whitc.  and  Scott's 
monument  towering  hirh  in  the  middle,  liLa  Himts  aplendid 
fountain  turned  to  f*  ^e.  Ay,  ay ;  and  ye  were  walking  along 
Princes  Street  no'  .uore  than  three  weeks  ago  t  and  I  suppoKo 
ye  were  think'  _;  of  old  Christopher,  and  the  Ettrick  Shepherd, 
and  Sir  W  ,er,  and  Jeffrey,  and  the  rest  of  them  t  Dear  me  I 
it's  a  k'  of  strange  thing.  Did  ye  go  out  to  Holyrood  f  Did 
7^  r''.aib  up  Arthur's  Seat!  Did  ye  see  PortoboUo,  and  Ip.cIi 
.eith,  and  the  Berwick  Law — " 

"  •  "The  boat  rocks  at  tlio  pier  o'  Lcith,' "  Vincent  quoted, 
with  a  smile. 

The  other's  eyes  flashed  recognition,  and  he  laughed  aloud. 

"  Ay,  ay ;  that  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  old  man.  Many's 
the  time  he  has  announced  himself  coming  up  these  very  stairs 
with  that." 

"  Did  Maisrie  ever  come  with  him  t"  Vincent  asked,  with  his 
Scart  going  a  bit  quicker 

"  His  granddaughter  f  Oh,  yes,  to  bo  sure — sometiraea.  lie 
Wi  -^  fond  of  coming  down  the  night  before  we  went  to  press, 
ana  booking  over  the  columns  of  Scotch  news,  and  having  a 
chat  '"'>a  see,  wo  have  to  boil  down  the  smaller  Scotch  papers 
for  local  u  wij— news  that  the  bigger  papers  don't  touch ;  and 
very  often  y  <i  notice  a  name  that  ia  familiar  to  yoa,  or  some- 
thing of  that  k..  d.  Well,  now,  I  wish  the  old  man  was  hero 
this  very  minute  1  I  do  indeed,  most  heartily.  We'd  let  by- 
gones be  bygones ;  no  doubt  I  was  mistaken.  I'll  back  Qeorge 
Bethune  for  a  true  and  loyal  Scot  Ah  suy,  man,"  continued 
Mr.  Anstruther,  pulling  out  bin  big  silver  watch — and  now  all 
his  assnmption  of  the  reserved  iimerican  manner  was  gone,  and 
he  was  talking  with,  enthooiastui  emphasis — "  there's  a  country- 
man of  mine— a  most  worthy  fnUow — close  by  here,  who  would 
be  glad  tci  see  any  friend  of  old  George  Bethaao''8.  It's  just 
about  his  lunch-time,  And  he'll  no  gradge  ye  a  furl  of  oatoal:« 
and  a  bit  of  Dunlo])  cheeso ;  in  fact,  nothing  pleases  him  bett<ir 
tbiin  keeping  open  house  for  his  cronies.  A  man  of  sterling 
wo  rtl.,.  and  a  man  of  sabstanco,  too :  sooner  or  later,  I  expect, 
he'll  tie  gc^ing  away  back  to  the  old  country,  and  buying  a  bit 
pitice  for  himself  in  his  native  county  of  Aberdeen.  Well, 
well,"  said  the  editor,  as  he  locked  hj»  desk,  and  put  on  his  hat 


)HI 


■TAIIO  VAST,  ORAio-sornoifi 


••• 


il  view  I — wonderful  I 
vor-whitc.  and  Scott's 
I  liLa  K->mo  splendid 

0  were  walking  along 
flgot  and  I  BuppoKo 

;ho  Ettrick  Shepherd, 
of  them  t  Dear  me  I 
It  to  Uolyrood  f  Did 
Portobello,  and  Inch 

b,'"  Vincent  quoted, 

i  ho  laughed  aloud, 
the  old  man.    Many's 
^  up  these  very  stairs 

ncent  asked,  with  his 

ire — sometiraefl.  lie 
>re  we  went  to  press, 

1  news,  and  having  a 
smaller  Scotch  paperii 
iira  don't  touch;  and 
iliar  to  yoo,  or  some- 
[lo  old  man  was  hero 
irtily.  We'd  let  by- 
en.  I'll  back  George 
auy,  man,"  continued 
'  watch — and  now  all 
iianner  was  gone,  and 
— "  there's  a  country - 
e  by  here,  who  would 
Bethnao'a.  It's  just 
y«  a  farl  of  oatoake 

ng  pleases  him  bett<ir 
A  man  of  sterling 
ler  or  later,  I  expect, 
try,  and  buying  a  bit 
of  Aberdeen.  Well, 
ik,  and  put  on  his  hat 


iind  opened  the  door  for  his  visitor,  "and  to  think  it  was  but 
tiic  other  day  yo  were  walking  along  l^incea  Street  in  Edin- 
burgh I  Did  ye  go  out  at  night,  when  the  old  town  was  lit  up  t 
A  grand  sight,  wasn't  it  f — nothing  like  it  in  the  world  t  Yo 
must  tell  honest  John — John  MacVittio,  that  is — that  ye've  just 
come  straight  from  the  '  Uind  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood,' 
and  ye'U  no  want  for  a  welcome.'' 

And,  indeed,  it  was  a  very  frank  and  friendly  welcome  he 
received  when  they  at  length  reached  Mr.  MaoVittie'a  place  of 
business,  and  were  shown  into  the  merchant's  private  room. 
Here  they  found  himself  and  his  two  partners  (all  Scotchmen) 
about  to  sit  down  at  table,  and  places  were  immediately  pre- 
pared for  the  new-comers.  The  meal  was  a  much  more  varied 
affair  than  the  editor  had  foreshadc  ved,  its  remarkable  feature 
being,  as  Vincent  was  informed,  tha^^  nearly  everything  placed 
on  the  board  had  been  sent  over  from  Scotland.  Mr.  MacVittio 
made  a  little  apology. 

"  It's  a  kind  of  hobby  of  mine,"  said  he ;  "  and  even  with 
perishable  things  it's  not  so  difficult  nowadays,  the  ice-houses 
of  the  big  steamers  being  so  convenient.  What  would  you  like 
to  drink,  sirt  I  can  give  yo  a  choice  of  Talisker,  Olenlivet, 
Long  John,  and  Lagavulin ;  but  perhaps  ye  would  prefer  oome- 
tbing  lighter  in  the  middle  of  the  d^y.  I  hope  you  don't  ob- 
ject to  the  smell  of  the  peats ;  wo  Scotch  folk  are  rather  fond 
of  it.  I  think  our  good  friood  here,  Anstmther,  would  rather 
have  a  snifE  of  the  peat  than  the  smell  of  the  best  canvas-baok 
duck  that  was  ever  carried  through  a  kitchen.  I  get  those  peats 
sent  over  from  Islay :  you  see,  I  try  to  have  Scotland— or  some 
fragments  of  it — brought  to  me,  since  I  cannot  go  to  it." 

"  But  why  don't  you  go  to  Scotland,  sirt"  said  Vincent,  know- 
ing he  was  speaking  to  a  man  of  wealth. 

"At  my  time  of  life,"  Mr.  MacVittie  aMwered,  "one  falls 
into  certain  ways  and  grooves,  and  it's  an  ill  job  getting  oat  of 
them.  No,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  be  in  Scotland  again 
until  I'm  taken  there — in  a  box.  I  shall  have  to  be  like  the 
lady  in  'The  Gay  Goss-hawk ' — 

"  *  An  asking,  an  uking,  my  father  dear, 
An  Mking  grant  ye  me  I 
That  if  I  die  in  merr  j  England, 
In  Sootland  you'll  bury  ne.* " 


•TANO  FAfT,  OKAIO-mOTWOm 


'•  Oh,  nonMDM,  John  t"  one  of  hlti  partnen  cried.  "  Nonacnae, 
man  I  We'll  hare  you  building  a  caatio  ap  aomrvrbere  about 
Kincardine  O'Neil ;  and  erery  autumn  we'll  go  orer  and 
■hoot  your  grouse  and  kill  your  salmon  for  yon.  That's  likcr 
H." 

Now  here  were  three  sharp  and  shrewd  businpsa  men  met 
together  in  the  very  heart  of  one  of  the  groat  commercial  cities 
of  the  world,  and  the  fourth  was  a  purveyor  of  news  (Vincent 
did  not  count ;  ho  was  so  wonderstruck  at  meeting  people  who 
had  known  (George  Bethune  and  Matsno  m  former  days,  and  so 
astonished  and  fascinated  by  any  chance  reference  to  them,  that 
he  did  not  care  to  propound  any  opinions  of  his  own ;  he  was 
well  content  to  listen),  and  it  might  naturally  have  been  sup- 
posed that  their  talk  would  have  been  of  the  public  topics  of 
the  hour — politics  homo  and  foreign,  the  flactuations  of  trade, 
dealings  with  that  portentous  surplus  that  is  always  getting  in 
the  way,  and  so  forth.    Dut  it  was  nothing  of  the  kind.    It  was 
all  about  the  dinner  of  the  Burns  Society  of  New  York,  to  be 
given  at  Sutherland's,  in  Liberty  Street,  the  following  evening, 
'n  celebration  of  the  birthday  of  the  Scotch  poet ;  and  Tom  Mac- 
Yittie — a  huge  man  with  a  reddish-brown  beard  and  a  bald  head 
— in  the  enUiusiasm  of  the  moment  was  decUiring  that  again 
and  again,  on  coming  across  a  aong  by  some  one  of  the  minor 
Scotch  poeta  that  was  particularly  fine,  he  wished  he  had  the 
power  to  steal  it,  and  hand  it  over  to  the  Ayrshire  bard,  no 
doubt  on  the  principle  that  "  whosoever  hath,  to  him  shall  be 
given."    Then  there  was  a  comparison  of  this  gem  and  that; 
favorites  were  mentioned  and  extolled ;  the  air  was  thick  with 
Willie  T^idlaw,  Allan  Cunningham,  Nicol,  Hogg,  Motherwell, 
Tannahill,  and  the  rest ;  while  the  big  Tom  MacVittie,  returning 
to  his  original  thesis,  maintained  that  it  would  be  .>niy  fair  pun- 
ishment if  John  Mayne  were  mulcted  of  his  "  LogM  Braes," 
because  of  his  cruel  maltreatment  of  "Helen  of  Eirkcon- 
nell" 

*'  Yes,  I  will  say;"  he  continnod,  and  his  fist  was  ready  to 
come  down  on  the  table  if  needs  were,  "  Robbie  himself  nUght 
well  be  proud  of  '  Logan  Braes,'  and  John  Mayne  deserves  to 
have  something  done  to  him  for  trying  to  spoil  so  fine  a  thing 
as  '  Helen  of  Kirkconnell.*  I  cannot  forgive  that  I  cannot 
forgive  that  at  alL     No  excuse.    Do  ye  think  the  man  that 


mmmmmm 


■TOiri 

len  cried.    "  Nonutifle, 

0  op  aomrvrbere  about 
in    we'll   go   over  and 

1  for  70a.    That*!  likcr 

owd  basinPM  men  met 
groat  commercial  cities 
?cyor  of  newa  (Vincent 

at  meeting  people  who 
I  in  former  days,  and  so 

reference  to  them,  that 
>ns  of  hit  own ;  he  waa 
iktarally  hare  been  sup- 
lit  the  public  topics  of 
le  flactaations  of  trade, 
lat  is  always  getting  in 
ing  of  the  kind.  It  was 
)ty  of  New  Yorlt,  to  be 
,  the  following  evening, 
tch  poet ;  and  Tom  Mac- 
n  beard  and  a  bald  head 
as  declaring  that  aguin 

some  one  of  the  minor 
,  he  wished  he  had  the 
»  the  Ayrshire  bard,  no 
»r  hath,  to  him  shall  be 

of  this  gem  and  that; 
;  the  air  was  thick  with 
icol,  Hogg,  Motherwell, 
'om  MacYittie,  returning 

would  be  .>nly  fair  pan- 

of  his  "  LA>gAa  Braes," 
f  "Helen  of  Eirkcon- 

id  his  fist  was  ready  to 

"  Robbie  himself  ndght 

John  Mayne  deserves  to 

f  to  spoil  so  fine  a  thing 

forgive  that.    I  cannot 

ye  think  the  man  that 


traVD   rAST,  0RAIC«IIOTBTOat 

wrote  the  '  Siller  Oun '  did  not  know  he  was  making  the  fine  old 
ballad  into  a  fashionable  rigmarole  f  Confound  him  1  I  would 
take  '  Logan  liraea'  from  him  in  a  miQute»  if  I  could,  and  hand 
it  over  to  Robbie — " 

"  Did  you  ever  notice,"  interpoiiod  the  editor  of  the  flcolch 
paper,  "the  clover  little  trick  of  repetition  in  the  middle  of 
every  alternate  verse —  , 

" '  By  Logan's  stresros  that  rin  so  deep, 
Fu*  aft  wi'  gl«e  I've  lierdeil  shsep ; 
.  Hsrdcd  sheep,  or  gathered  slaes, 

Wr  my  dear  lad  on  Logan  braes. 
But  wae's  my  heart,  thae  days  are  gane, 
And  I  «l'  grief  may  herd  alane ; 
While  my  dear  lad  maun  faoe  bU  faea. 
Far,  far  frae  me  and  Logan  braos.' 

I  do  not  remember  Bums  using  that  device,  though  it  was  famillM 
in  Sec 'oh  song — you  recollect  'Annie  Laurie' — 'her  waist  ya 
wcel  might  span.'    And  Landor  used  it  in  '  Rose  Aylmer' — 

" '  Rose  Aylmer,  all  were  thln«. 

Rose  Aylmer,  whom  these  wakeful  eyes — ' " 

"  I  would  like  now,"  continued  Tom  MacVittie,  with  a  cer- 
tain impatience  over  the  introduction  of  a  glaikot  Englisher, 
"  to  haud  over  to  Robbie  '  There's  nao  luck  about  the  house.' 
The  authorship  is  disputed  anyhow ;  though  I  tell  you  that  if 
William  Julius  Mickle  ever  wrote  those  veracs,  I'll  just  eat  my 
hat — and  coat  too !  It  was  Jcnn  Adams  wrote  that  song ;  I  say 
it  wjt'j  none  other  than  Jeaa  Adams.  Mickle — and  his  Portu- 
guese stuff  1" 

"  Qod  bless  me,  Tom,  do  you  forget  '  Cumnor  Hall  *  f"  hia 
brother  exclaimed. 

" '  Cumnor  Hall  'I  I  do  not  forget '  Cumnor  Hall,' "  Tom  Mac- 
Vittie rejoined,  with  a  certain  disdain.  "'Cumnor  Hall'l  a- 
wretched  piece  of  fustian,  that  no  one  wonld  have  thought  of 
twice,  only  th»t  Walter  Scott's  ear  was  taken  with  the  first 
verse.  Prond  minions — simple  nymphs — Philomel  on  yonder 
thorn :  do  ye  mean  that  a  man  who  wrote  stuff  like  that  coold 
write  like  Uii»— • 

"'Rise  up  and  mak'  a  clean  &tm0», 
Put  on  the  mickle  pot; 
Oie  little  Kate  her  cotton  gown. 
And  Jodc  his  Sunday's  eoat; 


8S8  STAND   VAST,   CiaiO-«0TST0!«l 

And  mtk'  their  shoon  u  black  u  tlus, 

Their  stockin'a  white  as  snaw ; 
It's  a'  to  pleasure  our  gudeman — 

He  likes  to  see  them  braw.* 

That's  human  nature,  man ;  there  youVe  the  goodwife  and  the 
goodman  aud  the  bairns ;  none  o'  your  Philon^els  and  nymphs 
and  swains  \  That  bletherin'  idiot,  Dr.  Beattio,  wrote  additional 
verses — well,  he  might  almost  bo  forgiven  for  the  last  couplet, 

" '  The  present  moment  is  our  ain, 
The  neist  we  never  saw — ' " 

"That  was  a  favorite  quotation  of  oM  George  Bethone's," 
said  the  elder  MacYittie,  with  a  smile,  to  Vincent       .      K| 

The  young  roan  was  startled  out  of  a  reverie.  It  was  so 
strange  for  him  to  sit  and  hear  conversation  like  this,  and  to 
imagine  that  George  Bethune  had  joined  in  it,  and  no  doubt 
led  it,  in  former  days,  and  that  perhaps  Maisrie  had  been  per- 
mitted to  listen. 

"  Yes,"  he  made  answer,  modestly ;  "  and  no  man  ever  car- 
ried the  spirit  of  it  more  completely  into  his  daily  life." 

"  What  makes  ye  think  he  is  in  New  York,  or  in  the  United 
States,  at  least  f  was  the  next  question.  -^i;, 

"I  can  hardly  say,"  said  Vincent,  "except  that  I  -knew  he 
had  many  friends  here." 

"  If  George  Bethune  is  in  New  York,"  Tom  MacVittie  inter- 
posed, in  his  decisive  way,  "  I'll  wager  he'll  show  up  at  Suther- 
li>iid'B  to-morrow  night — I'll  wager  my  coat  and  hat  1" 

And  then  the  editor  put  in  a  word. 

^'  If  I  thought  that,"  said  he,  "  I  would  go  along  to  the  secre- 
tary and  see  if  I  could  have  a  ticket  reserved  for  him.  I'm 
going  to  ask  Mr.  Harris  here  to  bo  my  g\iest;  for  if  he  isn't  a 
Scotchmap,  at  least  he  has  been  In  Scotland  since  any  of  as  were 
there." 

"  And  I  hope  you  don't  need  to  be  a  Scotchman  in  order  to 
have  an  admiration  for  Robert  Bums,"  said  Vincent  And  with 
that  appropriate  remark  the  symposium  broke  up ;  for  if  Mac- 
Vittie, MacVittie,  &  Hogg  chose  to  enliven  their  brief  mid- 
day meal  with  reminiscences  of  their  native  land  and  her  poets, 
they  were  not  in  the  habit  of  wasting  much  time  or  neglecting 
their  business. 

A  good  part  of  the  next  day  Vincent  spent  in  the  society  ot 


0TO!«I 


the  goodwife  and  the 
PhiIoD>els  and  nymphs 
eattic,  wrote  additional 
n  for  the  last  couplet, 
ir  ain, 

Id  George  Bethane's," 
>  Vincent 

a  reverie.  It  was  so 
ation  like  this,  and  to 
id  in  it,  and  no  doubt 
Maisrie  had  been  per- 

and  no  man  ever  car- 
o  his  daily  life." 
York,  or  in  the  United 

except  that  I  'knew  he 

"  Tom  MacVittie  inter- 
[e'll  show  up  at  Sather- 
>at  and  hat  1" 

i  go  along  to  the  secre- 
eserved  for  him.  I'm 
^lest;  for  if  he  isn't  a. 
ad  since  any  of  as  were 

Scotchman  in  order  to 
aid  Vincent.  And  with 
broke  up ;  for  if  Mac- 
iliven  their  brief  mid- 
;ive  land  and  her  poets, 
iuch  time  or  neglecting 

spent  in  tho  society  ot 


iii#ar>«in»rw»«fni«P!iiriroi»wriw<wii»wiww«'i»i*|*w«1'^ 


BTAITD  FAtrr,  CKAIO-BOYBTOff  t 


929 


Hugh  Anstruther ;  for  in  the  stir  and  ferment  then  prevailing 
among  the  Scotch  circles  in  New  York,  it  was  possible  that 
George  Bethune  might  be  heard  of  at  any  moment ;  and,  indeed, 
they  paid  one  or  two  visits  to  Nassau  Street,  to  ask  of  the  sec- 
retary of  the  Burns  Society  whether  Mr.  Bethune  had  not  tamed 
up  in  the  company  of  some  friend  applying  for  an  additional 
ticket.  And  in  the  meantime  Vincent  had  frankly  confessed 
to  this  now  acquaintance  what  had  brought  hinj  over  to  the 
United  States. 

"  Man,  do  ye  think  I  could  not  guess  that  I"  Hugh  Anstmtber 
exclaimed.  He  was  having  luncheon  with  Vincent  at  the  latter's 
hotel.  "  Hero  are  you,  a  fresh-elected  member  of  Parliament, 
and  I  dare  say  as  proud  as  Punch  in  consequence ;  and  within  a 
measurable  distance  of  your  taking  your  place  in  the  House  you 
leave  England,  and  come  away  over  to  America  to  hunt  up  an 
old  man  and  a  young  girl  I  Do  I  wonder  f — I  do  not  wonder. 
A  bonnier  lassie,  a  gentler  creature,  does  not  step  tho  ground 
anywhere ;  ay,  and  of  good  birth  and  blood,  too,  though  there 
may  be  a  something  in  that  to  account  for  George  Bethane's 
disappearance.  A  proud  old  deevil,  ye  see,  ahd  wilful;  and 
always  with  those  wild  dreams  of  his  of  getting  a  great  prop- 
erty— " 

'*  Well,  but  is  there  the  slightest  possibility  of  their  getting 
that  property  ?"  Vincent  interposed. 

"There  is  a  possibility  of  my  becoming  the  President  of  the 
United  Sta,tes  of  America,"  was  tho  rather  contcmptaous  (and, 
in  point  of  fact,  inaccurate)  answer.  "  The  courts  have  decided ; 
you  can't  go  and  disturb  people  who  have  been  in  possession 
for  generations — at  least,  I  should  think  not  As  for  the  chap- 
ter of  accidents,  no  doubt  the  estate<s  might  come  to  them  for 
the  want  of  a  more  direct  heir.  Such  things  certainly  do  ^hap- 
pen, but  how  often  f    However,  the  old  man  is  opinionated." 

"  Not  as  much  as  he  was. ,"  Vincent  said ;  "  not  on  that  point, 
at  least  He  does  not  .talk  as  much  about  it  as  he  used ;  so 
Maisrie  says." 

"  Oh,  Maisrie !  I  was  not  sure  whether  it  was  Maisrie  or  Mar- 
jorie.  A  pretty  name.  Well,  I  congratulate  you ;  and  when, 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  it  falls  upon  you  to  provide 
her  with  a  home,  I  hope  she  will  lead  a  more  settled,  a  hapiiicr 
life  than  I  fancy  she  could  have  led  in  that  wandering  way." 


•'•-*m^> 


HH 


«■■ 


» 


830 


STAND    WAST,  CKAIO-ltOTBTOHt 


Vincent  was  silent.  There  were  certain  thin^  about  which 
he  could  not  talk  to  his  new  acquaintance,  oven  th'  ugh  he  now 
seemed  so  well  disposed  towards  old  Oeoi^e  Belhune  and  that 
solitary  girl.  There  were  matters  about  which  he  had  given  op 
questioning  himself — mysteries  that  appeared  incapable  of  ex- 
planation. In  the  meantime  his  hopes  and  speculations  were 
narrowed  down  to  this  one  point :  would  Maisrie's  grandfather 
—from  whichsoever  part  of  the  world  he  might  hail — suddenly 
make  his  appearance  at  this  celebration  to-night  ?  For  in  that 
case  she  herself  could  not  be  far  off. 

And  wildly  enthusiastic  this  gathering  proved  to  be,  even  from 
the  outset.  Telegrams  were  fiying  this  way  and  that  (for  in  the 
old  country  the  ceremonies  hud  begun  some  hours  previouely) ; 
there  was  no  distinction  between  members  and  friends,  and  as 
Scot  encountered  Scot,  each  vied  with  the  other  in  recalling  the 
phrases  and  intonation  of  their  younger  years.  In  the  midst  of 
this  turmoil  of  arrival  and  joyous  greeting,  Vincent's  gaze  was 
fixed  on  the  door ;  at  any  moment  there  might  appear  there  a 
proud -featured  old  man,  white-haired,  keen -eyed,  of  distin- 
guished bearing — a  striking  %ure — and  not  more  picturesque 
than  welcome  I  For  would  not  Maisrie,  later  on  in  the  evening, 
be  still  waiting  up  for  him  ?  And  if,  at  the  end  of  the  proceed- 
ings, one  were  to  walk  home  with  the  old  man,  and  have  a  chance 
of  saying  five  words  to  Maisrie  herself,  by  way  of  good-night — 
No ;  he  would  not  reproach  her ;  he  would  only  take  her  hand, 
and  say,  "To-morrow — to-morrow,  Maisrie,  I  am  coming  to 
scold  you." 

Thin  Scot,  burly  Scot,  red-headed  Scot,  block-a-vised  Scot, 
Lowlander  and  Highlander — all  came  trooping  in,  eager,  talk- 
ative, delighted  to  meet  friends  and  acquaintances;  but  there 
was  lao  George  liethune.  And  when  they  had  settled  down  in 
their  places,  and  when  dinner  had  begun,  Hugh  Anstmther,  who 
was  "  croupier  "  on  this  occasion,  turned  to  his  gnest  and  said : 

"  You  must  not  be  disappointed.  I  hardly  expected  him ;  I 
could  not  hear  of  any  one  who  had  invited  him.  But  it  is  quite 
likely  he  may  turn  up  later  on — very  likely,  indeed,  if  he  is 
anywhere  within  tra,velling  distance  of  New  York.  Qeorge 
Bothune  is  not  the  one  to  forget  the  twenty-fifth  of  J8,naary; 
and,  of  course,  he  must  know  that  many  of  his  frininds  are  m- 
tembled  here." 


UWPWPM^MMHM 


•IPiPlil 


1 


roirt 

a  things  about  whicli 
,  oven  th'  ugh  he  now 
rge  Bethune  and  that 
■hich  he  had  given  op 
ared  incapable  of  ex- 
md  speculations  were 
Maisrie's  grandfather 
might  hail — suddenly 
o-night !    For  in  that 

roved  to  be,  even  from 
\j  and  that  (for  in  the 
nae  hours  previously) ; 
ra  and  friends,  and  as 
I  other  in  recalling  the 
ears.  In  the  midst  of 
ig,  Vincent's  gaxe  was 
might  appear  there  a 
keen -eyed,  of  fiistin- 
not  more  picturesque 
iter  on  in  the  evening, 
he  end  of  the  proceed- 
nan,  and  have  s  chance 
y  way  of  good-night — 
Id  only  take  her  hand, 
srie,  I  am  coming  to 

ot,  black-a-vised  Scot, 
•ooping  in,  eager,  talk- 
(uaintances;  but  there 
jy  had  settled  down  in 
Hugh  Anstruther,  who 
to  his  guest  and  said : 
lardly  expected  him ;  I 
d  him.  But  it  is  quite 
likely,  indeed,  if  he  is 
New  York  George 
?enty-fifth  of  Jainaary ; 
f  of  bis  friend»  are  as' 


SffAHD   FAST,  OBAIO-iU)T8TOiri 


381 


Then  presently  the  croupier  turned  to  his  guest  and  sud  in 
an  undertone : 

"  There's  a  toast  that's  not  down  in  the  list ;  and  I'm  going 
to  ask  ye  to  drink  it  We'll  drink  it  between  ourselves.  Fill 
your  glass,  man — bless  me,  what's  the  use  of  water! — see, 
here's  some  hock — Sutherland's  famous  for  his  hock — and  now 
this  is  the  toast :  '  Here's  to  Scotch  lassies,  wherever  they  may 
be  I'" 

"Yes—'  wherever  they  may  be,' "  Vincent  repeated,  absently. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  downhearted !"  his  lion-maned  friend  said,  with 
cheerful  goo<l-h«mor.  "  If  that  self-willed  old  deevil  has  taken 
away  the  lassie,  thinking  to  make  some  grand  heiress  of  her, 
beMl  find  it's  easier  to  talk  about  royal  blood  than  to  keep  a 
comfortable  house  over  her  head ;  and  some  day  he  may  be  glad 
enough  to  bring  her  back  and  see  her  safely  provided  with  a 
husband  well-to-do  and  able  to  take  care  of  her.  Iloyal  blood ! 
I'm  not  sure  that  I  haven't  heard  him  maintain  that  the  Bethunes 
were  a  more  ancient  race  than  the  Stuarts.  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  he  claimed  to  be  descended  from  Macbeth,  King  of  Scot- 
land. Oh,  he  holds  his  head  high,  the  old  scoundrel  tliat  has 
'stole  bonny  Glenlyon  away.'  But  you'll  be  even  with  him 
yet ;  you'll  be  even  with  him  yet.  Why,  if  he  come«  in  to- 
night, and  finds  ye  sitting  here,  he'll  be  as  astonished  as  Mac- 
lean of  Dnart  was  at  Inverary,  when  he  looked  up  from  the 
banquet  and  saw  his  wife  at  the  door." 

So  Vincent  had  perforce  to  wait  in  vague  expectancy ;  but, 
aevertheless,  the  proceedings  of  the  evening  interested  him  not 
a  little,  and  all  the  more  that  he  happened  to  know  two  of  the 
principal  speakera.  For  to  Mr.  Tom  MacVittia  watt  intnisted 
the  toast  of  the  evening — "  The  Emmortal  Mnmory  of  Robert 
Bams  " — and  very  eloquently,  indeed,  did  the  big  merchant  deal 
with  that  well-worn  theme.  What  the  subject  lacked  in  novelty 
was  amply  made  up  by  the  splendid  enthusiasm  of  his  audience ; 
the  most  familiar  quotatici.us — rolled  out  with  MacVittie's  breadth 
of  accent  and  strong  North  Country  burr — were  welcome  as  fcbe 
songs  of  Zion  sung  in  a  alTange  land ;  this  vrm  the  magic  speech 
that  could  s1;ir  their  hearts,  and  raise  visions  of  their  far-off  and 
beloved  native  home.  Nor  were  they  at  all  laudatoris  iempwrit 
aeti — these  perfervid  and  kindly  Scots.  When  the  croupier  rose 
to  propose  the  toast  that  had  been  allotted  to  him — "  The  Living 


iteakiMSSEitaiMiStS 


rr^rra'M 


kyA-,.',.,ll|iMLJ-,iy 


88a 


STAND   VABT,  OBAIO-SOrgTOHl 


Bards  of  Scotland" — cheer  after  cheer  greeted  names  of  vhich 
Vincent,  in  his  Southern  ignorance,  had  never  even  heard.  In- 
deed, to  this  Btrangor,  it  seemed  as  if  the  Scotlan.l  of  our  own 
day  most  be  simply  alive  with  poets;  and  not  of  the  kind  that 
proclaimed  at  Paisley  "  They  sterve  as  while  we're  leevin',  and 
raise  moniments  to  us  when  we're  deed ;"  but  of  a  quiet  and 
modest  character,  their  subjects  chiefly  domestic,  occasionally  hu- 
morous, more  frequently  exhibiting  a  sincere  and  effective  pathos. 
For,  of  course,  the  croupier  justified  himself  with  numerous  ex- 
cerpts; and  thexG  was  no  stint  to  the  applause  of  this  warm- 
blooded audience,  ivisomuch  that  Vincent's  idle  fancies  went 
wandering  away  to  those  (to  him)  little-known  minstrels  in  the 
old  land,  with  a  kind  of  wish  that  they  could  be  made  aware 
how  they  were  regarded  by  their  countrymen  across  the  sea. 
Nay,  when  the  croupier  concluded  his  speech,  "  couj  ''ng  with 
this  toast"  a  wiiole  string  of  names,  the  young  man,  carried 
away  by  the  prevailing  ardor,  said, 

"  Mr.  Anstmther,  surely  nothing  will  do  justice  to  this  toast 
but  a  drop  of  whiskey  t" 

And  the  croupier,  passing  him  the  decanter,  said  in  reply : 

"  Surely — surely — on  an  evening  like  this ;  and  yet  I'm  bound 
to  say  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  whiskey,  my  list  of  living 
Scotch  poets  would  have  been  Ion      ." 

The  evening  passed;,  and  Via  cent's  hopes,  that  had  been  too 
lightly  and  easily  raised,  were  slowly  dwindling.  Had  George 
Bcthune  been  in  New  York,  or  within  any  reasonable  distance 
of  it,  ho  would  almost  certainly  have  come  to  this  celebration, 
at  which  several  of  his  old  friends  were  assembled.  As  Vincent 
walked  home  that  night  to  his  hotel,  the  world  seemed  dark 
and  wide;  and  ho  felt  strangelj  alone.  He  knew  not  which 
way  to  turn  now.  For  one  thing,  he  was  not  at  all  convinced, 
as  Hugh  Anstrutfaer  appeared  to  bo,  that  it  was  Mr.  Bethr.je 
who  had  takv<:n  his  granddaughter  away,  and  that,  sooner  or 
later,  he  would  turn  up  at  one  or  other  of  those  transatlantic 
gatherings  of  his  Scotch  friends.  Vincent  could  not  forget 
Maisrie's  last  farewdi ;  and  if  this  separation  were  of  her  plan- 
ning and  executing,  then  there  w.<is  far  less  chance  of  his  en- 
countering them  in  any  such  haphazard  fashion.  "It  is  good- 
bye forever  between  you  and  me,"  she  had  written.  And  of 
what  avail  no«  were  her  wild  words,  "  Vincent.,  I  love  yon  1 — I 


:,:to- 


mmmmm 


mmmmmmmnjf^mmi 


»mJimmmii,Wfm0^ 


iTOiri 

reeted  names  of  ■which 
never  even  heard.  Id- 
3  Scotlanl  of  our  own 
d  not  of  the  kind  that 
hile  we're  'eevin',  and 

;"  but  of  a  quiet  and 
oiestic,  occasionally  hu- 
re  and  effective  pathos, 
self  with  numerous  ex- 
ipplause  of  this  warm- 
int's  idle  fancies  went 
mown  minstrels  in  the 

could  be  made  aware 
:rymen  across  the  sea. 
ipeech,  "  couj  '•'^g  with 
le  young  man,  carried 

do  justice  to  this  toast 

»nter,  said  in  reply : 
his ;  and  yet  I'm  bound 
liskey,  my  list  of  living 

opes,  that  had  been  too 
windiing.     Had  George 
my  reasonable  distance 
>me  to  this  celebration, 
assembled.    As  Visjcent 
the  world  seemed  dark 
,     He  knew  not  which 
as  not  at  all  convinced, 
bat  it  was  Mr.  Bethnw 
^ay,  and  that,  sooner  or 
er  of  those  transatlantic 
incent  could  not  forget 
tration  were  of  her  plan- 
r  less  chance  of  his  en- 
1  fashion,     "  It  is  good- 
e  had  written.     And  of 
Vincent,  1  love  you! — I 


8TAHD   VAST,  OBAia-BOTBTOR  t 


883 


love  you ! — ^yon  are  my  dearest  in  all  the  world !  Ton  will  remem< 
bcr,  always  and  always,  whenever  you  think  of  me,  that  that  is 
so ;  you  will  not  forget ;  remember  that  I  love  you  always,  and 
am  thinking  of  you !"  Idle  phrases,  that  the  winds  had  blown 
away !  Of  what  use  were  they  now  ?  Nay,  why  should  he  be- 
lieve them,  any  more  than  the  pretty  professions  that  Mrs.  De 
Lara  had  made  on  board  the  steamer?  Were  they  not  both 
women,  those  two?  And  then  he  drew  back  with  scorn  of 
himself;  and  rebuked  the  lying  Satan  that  seemed  to  walk  by 
his  side.  Solitariness — ^wounded  pride — disappointment — al- 
most despair — might  drive  him  to  say  or  imagine  mad  things 
at  the  moment ;  but  never — never  once — in  his  heart  of  hearts 
had  he  really  doubted  Maisrie's  faith  and  honor.  All  other 
things  might  be ;  not  that 

He  resolved  to  leave  New  York  and  go  out  West :  it  was  just 
possible  that  Maisrie  had  taken  some  fancy  for  revisiting  the  place 
of  her  birth ;  he  guessed  they  might  have  certain  friends  there 
also.   Hugh  Anstruther  came  to  the  railway-station  to  see  him  off. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  may  hear  something  about  them  in 
Otoaha ;  but  it  is  hardly  probable ;  for  those  Western  cities  grow 
at  a  prodigious  pace,  and  the  traces  of  people  who  leave  them 
get  very  soon  obliterated.  Besides,  the  population  is  more  or 
!css  shifting ;  there  are  ups  and  downs ;  and  you  must  remem- 
ber it  is  a  considerable  time  since  Mr.  Bethune  and  his  grand- 
daughter left  Omaha.  However,  in  case  yon  don't  learn  anything 
of  them  there,  I  have  brought  yon  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Daniel 
Thompson,  of  Toronto — the  well-known  banker — ^you  may  have 
heard  of  him — and  he  is  as  likely  as  any  one  to  know  anything 
that  can  be  known  of  Gleorge  Be'bhune.    They  are  old  friends." 

Vincent  was  very  grateful. 

"  And  I  suppose,"  he  said;,  »  he  was  getting  Ms  smaller  be- 
longings into  the  car,  "  I  sha'n't  hear  anything  farther  of  that 
fellow  De  Lara?" 

"  Not  a  bit — not  a  bit  I"  the  good-natured  Scotch  editor  made 
answer.  "  Yon  took  the  ^ght  way  with  him  at  the  beginning. 
He'll  probably  call  yon  a  scoundrel  and  blackguard  in  one  or 
two  obscure  papers ;  but  that  won't  break  bones." 

"  I  have  a  stout  oak  cudgel  that  can,  though,"  said  Vincent, 
"  if  thei'o  should  be  need." 

It  was  a  long  and  lonely  journey ;  Vincent  was  in  no  mood 


BUHH 


STAND   VAST,  OBAIO- HOTBTON I 


for  making  kcqnaintances ;  and  doubtless  his  fellow-passengers 
considered  him  an  'excellent  specimen  of  the  proud  and  taciturn 
travelling  Englishman.  But  at  length  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
wide  valley  of  the  Missouri,  with  its  long  mud-batilhS  and  yellow 
water-channels ;  and  beyond  that  again  the  flat  plain  of  the  city, 
dominated  by  the  twin-spired  high  school  perched  on  a  distant 
height.  And  he  could  see  how  Omaha  had  grown  even  within 
the  short  time  that  had  elapsed  since  his  last  visit  Whei'e  he 
could  remember  one -storied  tenements  stuck  at  hapba;i»^»i 
among  trees  and  waste  bits  of  green,  there  were  now  streets 
with  tram-cars  and  important  public  buildings ;  the  city  had  ex- 
tended in  every  dir'sction ;  it  was  a  vast  wilderness  of  houses 
th£t  he  beheld  beyond  the  wide  river.  Perhaps  Maisrie  had 
been  surprised,  too,  oi.  coming  back  to  her  old  home.  Alas  I  it 
seemed  so  big  a  place  in  which  to  search  for  any  one ;  and  he 
knew  of  no  kindly  Scot  h  editor  who  might  help. 

And  very  soon  he  got  to  recognize  thai  ilugb  Anstruther's 
warnings  had  been  well  i'ounded.  Onaalib  seemed  to  have  no 
past,  nor  any  remembrance  of  bygone  things ;  the  city  was  too 
busy  pushing  ahe'  '^  to  think  of  those  who  had  gone  under,  or 
left  J;,  la  true  that,  »«,  ihe  offices  of  the  Union  Pacific  Railway 
he  managed  to  get  some  scant  information  a1>0Ht  the  young  en- 
gineer with  whom  fortune  had  dealt  so  hardly ;  but  these  wern 
not  personal  reminiscences ;  there  were  new  men  everywhere, 
and  Maisrie's  father  had  not  been  known  to  any  of  them.  As 
for  the  child-orphan  and  the  old  man  who  had  come  to  adopt 
her,  who  was  likely  to  remember  them  f  They  were  not  impor- 
tant enough;  Omaha  had  its  "manifest  destiny"  to  think  of; 
besides,  they  were  now  gone  some  years,  and  some  years  in  a 
Western  city  is  a  century. 

This  was  not  a  wholesome  life  that  Yin  Harris  was  leading, 
so  quite  alone  was  he,  and  anxious,  and  despairing.  He  could 
not  sleep  very  well.  At  intervals  during  the  night  he  would 
start  up,  making  sure  that  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  violin ;  and 
so.'ietimes  the  distant  and  almost  inaudible  notes  seemed  to 
have  a  suggestion  of  Maisrie's  voice  in  them : 

"  I  daurna  tryst  wl'  you,  Willie, . . . 
I  danma  tryat  y«  here, . . . 
But  we'll  hold  onr  tryst  in  heaveti,  Willie,  ... 
|<.,  In  the  spiiag-tiuM  o' the  year." 


irwiirmniiiiMiii 


I  Mm  imffili-w 


TON  I 

I  his  fellow-paasengen 
the  proad  and  taciturn 
)  came  in  sight  of  the 
mad-bsQlhS  and  yellow 

0  flat  plain  of  the  city, 

1  perched  on  a  distant 
>ad  grown  even  within 
I  Ust  visit  Whece  he 
I  stack  at  hapbai.^fd 
^ere  were  now  streets 
lings ;  the  city  had  ex- 
t  wilderness  of  houses 

Perhaps  Maisrie  had 
ir  old  home.  Alas !  it 
h  for  any  one ;  and  he 

jht  help. 

lai  Uugb  Anstruther's 

lite  seemed  to  have  no 

ings ;  the  city  was  too 

ho  had  gone  under,  or 

Union  Pacific  Railway 

m  about  the  young  cn- 

hardly ;  but  these  were 

new  men  everywhere, 

n  to  any  of  them.     As 

rho  had  come  to  adopt 

They  were  not  impor- 

destiny"  to  think  of; 

3,  and  some  years  in  a 

Tin  Harris  was  leading, 
despairing.    He  could 

ng  the  night  he  would 
sound  of  a  violin ;  and 

idible  notes  seemed  to 

hem: 


«.,  Willie, 


nxnxt  l>A8T,  CnUIO-BOTiTOff  I 


t88 


And  then  he  wonld  listen  more  and  more  intently,  and  convince 
himself  it  was  only  the  moaning  of  the  wind  down  the  empty 
street  He  neglected  his  meala.  V/hen  ho  took  up  a  news- 
paper, the  printed  words  conveyed  no  meaning  to  him.  And 
then  be  would  go  away  out  wandering  again,  through  these 
thoroughfares  that  had  hardly  any  interest  for  him  now ;  while 
he  was  becoming  more  and  more  hopeless  as  the  long  hours 
went  by,  and  feeling  himself  baflled  at  every  point 

But  before  turning  his  face  eastward  again,  be  ha^  written' to 
Mr.  Daniel  Thompson,  of  Toronto,  mentioning  that  he  had  a 
letter  of  introduction  from  Hugh  Anstruther,  and  stating  what 
had  brought  him  out  here  to  the  West     Then  he  went  on : 

"  Mr.  Beihune  was  never  very  communicative  about  money 
matters — at  least  to  me ;  indeed,  he  seemed  to  consider  such 
things  too  Ixivial  for  talking  about  At  the  same  time,  I  un- 
derstood from  him  that  when  his  son,  Miss  Bethune's  father, 
died,  there  was  either  some  remnant  of  his  shattered  fortunes — 
or  perhaps  it  was  some  fund  subscribed  by  sympathizing  friends 
— I  never  could  make  out  which,  and  was  not  curious  enough  to 
inquire — that  produced  a  certain  small  annual  income.  Now  I 
thought  that  if  I  could  discover  the  trustees  who  paid  over  this 
income,  they  would  certainly  know  where  Mr.  Betbunc  and  his 
granddaughter  were  now  living ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  supposing 
the  fund  was  derived  from  some  investment,  if  I  could  find  out 
the  bank  which  held  the  securities,  they  also  might  be  able  to 
tell  me.  But  all  my  inquiries  have  been  in  vain.  I  am  a  stranger ; 
people  don't  want  to  bo  bothered ;  sometimes  I  can  see  they  are 
suspicions.  However,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  jon,  as  an  old 
friend  of  Mr.  Bethiine,  might  chance  to  know  who  they  are  who 
have  this  fund  in  trust ;  and  if  you  could  tell  me,  yon  would  put 
me  under  a  lifcV*'^  debt  of  gratitudo.  If  you  were  aware  of  all 
the  circumstances,  you  would  be  convinced  that  no  ill-use  is 
likely  to  be:  made  of  the  information.  When  I  first  became  ac- 
quainted with  Mr.  Bethune  and  his  granddaughter,  they  seemed 
to  me  to  bo  living  a  very  happy  and  simple  and  contented  life  in 
London ;  aad  I  am  afraid -I  am  in  some  measure  responsible  for 
their  having  suddenly  resolved  to  leave  these  quiet  circumstances 
and  take  to  that  wandering  life  of  which  Miss  Bethune  seemed 
so  Badly  tired.  If  I  can  get  no  news  of  them  here,  I  propose 
returning  homo  by  Toronto  and  Montreal,  and  I  sbail  then  gfive 


SM 


BTAMO   FART,  OSAIO-ROTBTOH  I 


myself  the  (tloMnre  of  calling  upon  you,  when  I  may  be  able  to 
asauro  you  that,  if  you  should  Lear  anything  of  Mr.  Bothuno 
and  Miss  Bethune,  you  would  be  doing  no  injury  to  thorn,  or 
to  ary  one,  in  letting  mo  kiow." 

Then  came  the  answer — from  a  cautions  Scot : 

"Dkar  SiH, — As  you  rightly  obierve,  my  old  friend  Geo'  -^e  Bethune  wnt 
norer  very  comiuunicative  about  money  maiturs,  riid  perhaps  he  was  even 
less  BO  with  me  tlian  with  othvra  -fearing  that  an/  it>\nh  dlaclosures  might  be 
miaconatrued  into  an  appeal  for  help.  I  wns  vaguely  ai?are,  like  youraeir, 
that  be  had  Aome  small  annual  income,  for  the  maintenance  of  hiii  grar.d- 
daughtcr,  as  I  aaderstood  ;  but  from  wh«!n(e  it  <<ras  derived  I  had,  and  have, 
no  knowledge  whatever,  so  that  1  regiet  I  cannjt  give  you  the  infcrmatiot\ 
yon  seek.  I  shall  be  pltitaucd  to  see  you  on  your  wfy  Miiough  Toronto;  ind 
still  further  pleaaed  to  give  .vou  any  assistance  that  icny  ,'-p,  in  my  power." 

There  was  not  much  cncourageraent  in  this  letter ;  bn*;  after 
these  wcnry  and  lonely  days  in  this  hopeless  city,  he  was  glad 
to  welcome  any  friendly  band  held  oui  to  biro.  And  he  grew 
to  think  that  he  would  be  more  likely  to  bear  ol'  Mnisrie  in 
Toronto  or  Montreal  than  in  this  big  town  on  the  banks  of  tho 
Missouri.  Canada  bad  been  far  longer  her  home.  She  used 
to  talk  of  Toronto  or  Montreal — more  rarely  of  Quebec — as  if 
she  were  familiar  with  every  feature  of  them ;  wuere.^8  she 
hsrdly  over  mentioned  Omaha.  Ho  remembered  her  telling 
him  bf  »  she  used  to  climb  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower  of  Toronto 
Collegt ,  o  look  away  across  the  wide  landscape  to  tho  loftj 
column  f  soft  smoke  that  rose  from  Niagara  Fal's  into  the 
blue  of  tho  summer  sky.  lie  recalled  her  description  of  tho 
small  verandaed  villa  in  which  they  lived,  out  among  the  sandy 
roads  and  trees  and  gardens  of  the  suburbs.  Why,  it  was  the 
Toronto  Olobe  or  the  Toronto  Mail  that  old  CJeorge  Bethune 
was  reading  when  first  he  htid  dared  to  address  them  in  Hyde 
Park.  Then  Montreal;  he  recollected  so  well  her  talking  of 
the  Gray  Nunnery,  of  Notre  Dame,  of  Bonsecours  Market,  of 
the  ice  palaces,  and  toboggan  slides,  and  similar  amnsementa  of 
the  bard  Northern  wii  ter.  But  a  trivial  little  incident  that  be- 
fell him  on  his  arrival  m  Toronto  persuaded  him  more  than  any 
of  those  reminiscences  <  hat  in  coming  to  Canada  he  was  getting 
nearer  to  Maisrie— tba<  at  any  moment  he  might  be  within  im- 
mediate tonch  ol  her. 

It  was  rather  late  v.  the  evening  when  he  reached  hit)  hotel. 


i&sii 


STOMI 

when  I  may  be  able  to 

ything  of  Mr.  Bothune 

no  injury  to  thorn,  or 

as  Scot : 

friend  Geo  ';e  Bethune  wan 
1,  rnd  p?rhaps  he  was  even 
1}  mii'h  dUclosuma  migUt  be 
agucly  aware,  like  yourself, 
I  maintenance  of  hUi  grar.d- 
vas  derived  I  had,  and  have, 
■X  give  you  the  infcrmatiou 
r  wrj  'hiough  Toronto;  md 
lat  rear  i'e  In  my  power." 

in  this  letter ;  du'j  after 
peless  city,  he  was  glad 
to  him.     And  he  grew 
'  to  hear  of  Ililaisrie  in 
wn  on  tho  banks  of  tho 
r  her  home.     She  used 
rarely  of  Quebec — as  if 
of  them;  wuere-is  she 
remembered  her  telling 
of  the  tower  of  Toronto 
landscape  to  the  lofty 
Niagara  Fal's  into  the 
I  her  description  of  tho 
sd,  oat  among  the  sandy 
>arb8.    Why,  it  was  the 
tat  old  George  Bethnne 
)  address  them  in  Hydo 
so  well  her  talking  of 
:  Bonsecours  Market,  of 
d  similar  amnsements  of 
a1  little  incident  that  be- 
aded him  more  than  any 
o  Canada  he  was  getting 
)  he  might  be  within  im- 

len  ho  reached  hit)  hotel. 


STAMIy   VABt,  OBAIO-ROYSTOm 


•it 


lie  was  tired,  and  he  thought  he  would  go  soon  to  bed  His 
room  looked  out  into  a  side  street  that  was  pretty  sure  to  bo  de- 
serted at  this  hour ;  so  that,  just  aa  he  was  turning  oft  the  tight, 
he  was  a  trifle  surprised  to  bear  a  slight  and  distant  sound  as 
of  singing,  and  from  idle  ouriof>ity  ho  went  to  the  wiudow. 
There  was  a  full  moon;  the  opposite  pavement  and  tho  ftonts 
of  the  houses  were  white  in  the  coM  and  clear  radiance ;  silence 
reigned  save  for  this  chance  sound  he  liad  heard.  At  the  same 
moment  he  descried  the  source  of  it.  There  were  two  young 
girls  comiufj  along  tho  pavement  opposite — hurrying  home,  ap- 
parently, arm-in-arm — while  they  amused  themselves  by  singing 
a  littlo  in  an  underhand  way,  one  of  them  even  attempting  a 
second  from  time  to  time.  And  how  could  he  mistake  the  a  *: 
it  was  the  "  Clairo  Fontaine  "  I  Tho  girls  were  singing  in  no  biA 
fashion,  but  idly  and  carelessly,  to  amuse  th»mselves  on  their 
homeward  way ;  and,  indeed,  so  quietly  that  even  in  this  pre^ 
vailing  silence  he  could  only  gueos  m  the  words : 

'*  Tai  perdu  ma  maitreue 
Sons  I'avoir  m^rM, 
Pour  nn  bouquet  de  roses 

,i)r     "-r   '  Que  jo  lui  refuaal 

;  '-■•t^'W'^  ^.:  •  •  • 

i    ,^,  ^;   ,        "Je  voudnunqueUroea 

Fut  encore  au  rcaier, 

Et  m<rf  et  ma  mattresse  -'   '  *"' 

Dans  les  mtmcs  amitlis." 

And  then  the  two  slight,  dark  figures  went  by  in  the  white 
moonlight,  and  eventually  the  sound  ceased  in  tho  distance. 
But  he  had  been  greatly  cheered  and  comforted.  This  was  • 
friendly  and  familiar  air.  He  had  reached  Maisrie^s  horns  ttl 
last ;  "  La  Olaire  Fontaine "  proclaimed  it.  And  if,  when  hdt 
neared  the  realms  of  sleep,  his  heart  was  full  of  the  old  refrain— pi 

"  Lui  y  a  longtemps  que  je  t'aime, 
Jamais  je  ne  t'oublierai," 

there  was  something  of  hopefnlness  there  as  well ;  he  had  left 
the  despair  of  Omaha  behind  him. 
83       p 


SM                    HTUio  VAST,  01/     HOTaroai 

- 

*:.  A.#i'.]R,%<i^  '^ii:%i,ii«!Vih^ 

!#'. 

'  t\U'A  ,'iT*,v'i!*   i;'iVS,  . 

',».. 

A-:if  ••''•  t.«  :,--t 

.     ■■.  «« 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

l':*ii 

'    7  !  .      BHLIQiiTINllBRT. 

Nrxt  morning  he  wm  up  and  oat  betimes — wandering  through 
this  Uivn  that  somehow  seemed  to  be  pervaded  by  Maisrio's 
presence,  or,  at  least,  by  recollection?  of  her  and  associations 
with  her.  He  had  hardly  left  his  hotel  when  ho  heard  a  tclo- 
gr»pli-boy  whistling  the  air  of  "Isabeaa  s'y  prom^ne."  He 
wont  from  one  street  to  another,  recognising  this  and  that  pab- 
lio  bnilding;  the  polished  marble  pillars  shining  in  the  cold, 
cleiir  nnnlight  Then  he  walked  away  ap  College  Avenue,  and 
onterod  Queen's  Park ;  and  there,  af tor  some  littlt  deUy,  he  ob- 
tained permission  to  ascend  to  tht>  top  of  the  University  tower. 
But  in  vain  he  sought  along  the  southern  horizon  for  the  cloud 
of  soft  white  smoke  of  which  Maisrio  had  often  spoken ;  the 
distent  Niagara  was  frozen  motioixless  and  mute.  When  he  re- 
turned to  the  more  frequented  thoroughfares,  the  business  life 
of  the  city  was  in  full  flow;  ncveitheloss  he  kept  his  eyes 
oa  the  alert;  even  amid  this  hurrying  crowd  the  figure  of 
George  Betbune  would  not  readily  escape  recognition.  But, 
indeed,  he  was  only  seeking  to  pass  the  time,  for  he  thought  he 
onght  not  tq  call  on  the  banker  before  niidd.ty. 

Mr.  IHiniel  Thompson  he  found  to  be  a  tall,  spare  man,  of 
well  over  sixty,  with  abort  white  whiskers,  a  face  otherwise 
clean  shaven,  and  eyes  that  were  shrewd  and  observant,  but  far 
from  unkindly.  Ho  listened  to  the  yonng  man's  tale  with  evi- 
dent interest 

*' And  so  you  have  come  all  the  way  across  the  Atlantic,"  said  he, 
**  to  look  for  my  old  friend  George  Bethun'^  and  little  Maggie." 

"  Maggie,"  repeated  Vincent,  somewhat  startled.  *'  Maisrie, 
jron  raean." 

"  Maisrie  1''  ihe  banker  said,  with  a  certain  impatience.  "  Does 
he  still  keep  up  that  nonsense  f  The  girl's  name  is  Maif^et ; 
Margaret  Bethnne — surely  a  good  enough  name  for  any  Chris- 
tian,    But  his  head  is  just  full  of  old  ballads  and  stuff  of  that 


iPPHipq 


Tom 


It. 

,eB — wandering  throogh 
pervaded  by  Maisrij's 
[){  her  and  aasociations 
1  when  he  heard  a  telo- 
satt  s'y  proinino."     He 
liiing  this  and  that  pnb- 
irs  shining  in  the  cold, 
up  College  Avenue,  and 
gome  littlt  delay,  he  ob- 
of  the  University  tower, 
irn  horizon  for  the  cloud 
had  often  spoken;  the 
iind  mute.     When  he  re- 
jhfares,  the  business  life 
heloss  he  kept  his  eyes 
ng  crowd  the  figure  of 
scape  recognition.     But, 
e  time,  for  he  thought  he 
r,niddfty. 

be  a  tall,  spare  man,  of 
linkers,  a  face  otherwise 
vd  and  observant,  but  far 
onng  man's  tale  with  evi- 

sross  the  AtUntic,"  s«d  he, 
sthun-o  and  little  Maggie." 
what  startled.    "Maisrie, 

«rtain impatience.  "Does 
»  girl's  name  is  Margaret; 
lOugh  name  for  any  Chris- 
d  ballads  and  stuff  of  that 


sTAiro  VAST,  ORAio-aornoiii 


kind ;  any  fancy  that  strikes  him  is  just  as  real  to  bim  as  fact; 
I  daru  say  he  could  persuade  himself  that  ho  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  Sir  Patrick  Spens  and  the  Scots  lords  who  were 
drinking  in  Dunfermline  town — " 

"  r  t  in  any  case,"  Vincent  protested  (for  how  could  he  tur- 
rondoi  the  name  that  was  so  deeply  graven  on  his  heart  t), 
"  Maisrie  is  only  a  form  of  Margaret — as  Marjorie  is — a  pet 
name — " 

"Maisrie!"  said  the  banker,  contemptuously.  "Who  ever 
heard  of  any  human  creature  being  called  Maisrie— outside  of 
poetry-books  and  old  ballads  t  I  warned  the  little  monkey, 
many  and  many  a  day  ago,  when  I  first  trot  her  to  -^rite  to  me, 
that  she  must  sign  her  own  name,  or  she  would  see  what  I  would 
do  to  her.  Well,  how  is  the  little  Omabnssy  I  What  does  she 
look  like  nowt  A  sly  little  wretch  she  used  to  be — making 
people  fond  of  her  with  her  earnest  eyes — " 

"I  Jon't  think  you  quite  understand,"  said  Vincent,  who  re- 
Bonted  the  familiar  tone,  though  in  truth  it  only  meant  an  affec- 
tionate kindliness.  "  Miss  Bethnno  is  no  longer  the  little  girl 
you  seem  to  imagine ;  she  is  quite  •  young  lady  now — and  taller 
than  most." 

"The  little  Omahnssy  grown  np  to  be  a  tall  yonng  ladyf 
said  he,  in  a  pleased  fashion.  "  Tos,  yes,  I  suppose  sa  No 
doubt.  .  And  tali,  yon  say  f  Even  when  she  was  here  last  bhe 
was  getting  on ;  but  the  only  photograph  I  have  of  her  was  done 
long  before  that — when  she  was  hardly  more  than  twelve ;  and 
then  I'm  an  old  bachelor, you  see;  I'm  not  accustomed  to  watch 
children  growltip;  and  somehow  I  remember  her  mostly  as 
when  I  first  ka^w  her — a  shy  yoong  thing,  and  yet  something 
of  a  little  woman  in  her  ways.  Grown  up  good-looking,  too,  I 
suppose  f — both  her  father  and  mother  were  handsome." 

"  If  yon  saw  her  now,"  said  Vincent, "  I  think  you  would  say 
she  was  beautiful ;  though  it  might  not  be  her  beauty  that  would 
take  your  attention  the  most." 

The  elderly  banker  regarded  this  yonng  man  for  a  second 
or  so— aud  with  a  favoring  glance :  he  was  dearly  well  im- 
pressed. 

"  I  hope  yoa  will  not  consider  me  intrusive  or  impertinent  if 
I  ask  you  a  qneation,"  said  he.  "  I  am  an  old  friend  of  George 
Betbune's — perhaps  the  oldest  alive  now ;  and,  besides  that,  I 


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Photographic 

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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

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ATAHD   fast,  ORAIO-mOYSTOVl 


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IS" 


have  always  regarded  myself  as  a  sort  of  second  father  to  the 
little  Margaret— though  their  wandering  way  of  lifn  has  taken 
her  out  of  my  care.  Now — don't  answer  unless  you  like — ^tell 
me  to  mind  my  own  business — but  at  the  same  time  one  would 
almost  infer,  from  your  coming  over  here  in  search  of  them,  that 
yon  have  some  particular  interest  in  the  young  lady — " 

"  It  is  the  chief  interest  of  my  life,"  said  Vincent,  with  sim- 
ple frankness.  "And  that  is  why  I  cannot  rest  until  I  find 
them." 

"  Well,  now,  one  question  more,"  the  banker  continued.  "  I 
don't  wish  to  pry  into  any  youug  lady's  secrets — but — but 
perhaps  there  may  be  some  understanding  between  her  and 
you?" 

"  I  hope  80,"  said  Vincent 

"  And  the  young  wretch  never  wrote  me  a  line  t3  tell  me  of 
it!"  Mr.  Thompson  exclaimed — but  it  was  very  obvious  that 
this  piece  of  news  had  caused  him  no  chagrin.  'The  little 
Omahussy  grows  up  to  be  a  fine  and  tall  young  lady ;  chooses 
her  sweetheart  for  herself;  thinks  of  getting  married  and  all  the 
rest  of  it ;  and  not  a  word  to  me !  Here  is  filial  gratitude  for 
you  I  Why,  does  she  forget  what  I  have  promised  to  do  for 
hert  Not  that  I  ever  said  so  to  her;  you  don't  fill  a  school- 
girl's head  full  of  wedding  fancies ;  but  her  grandfather  knew ; 
her  grandfather  must  have  told  her  when  this  affair  was  settled 
between  you  and  her — " 

But  hero  Vincent  had  to  interpose  and  explain  that  nothing 
was  settled ;  that  unhappily  everything  was  unsettled ;  and,  fur- 
ther, he  wenl'  on  to  tell  of  all  that  had  happened  preceding  the 
disappearance  of  Maisrie  and  her  grandfather.  For  this  man 
seemed  of  a  kindly  nature ;  he  was  an  old  friend  of  those  two ; 
thee  Vincent  had  been  very  much  alone  of  late-^here  was  no 
one  in  Omaha  in  whom  he  could  confide.  Mr.  Thompson  lis- 
tened with  close  attention;  and  at  last  be  said: 

"  I  can  see  that  you  have  been  placed  in  a  very  peculiar  posi- 
tion; and  that  you  have  stood  the  test  well  The  description 
of  my  old  friend  Bethune  that  your  father  put  before  you  could 
be  made  to  look  very  plausible ;  and  I  imagine  that  most  young 
men  would  have  been  staggered  by  it.  I  can  fancy  that  a  good 
many  young  men  would  have  been  apt  to  say '  Like  grandfather, 
like  granddaughter  '—and  would  have  declined  to  have  anything 


ri®?' 


ond  father  to  the 
of  lifn  has  takeiv 
ess  yoa  like — ^tell 
me  time  one  would 
learch  of  them,  that 
ig  lady—" 
Vincent,  with  sim- 
)t  rest  until  I  find 

leer  continued.  "  I 
lecrcts — but — but 
I  between  her  and 


a  line  t3  tell  me  of 
i  very  obvious  that 
lagrin.  'The  little 
oung  lady ;  chooses 
married  and  all  the 
s  filial  gratitude  for 
promised  to  do  for 
u  don't  fill  a  school- 
r  grandfather  knew ; 
his  affair  was  settled 

explain  that  nothing 
unsettled ;  and,  f ur- 
pened  preceding  the 
ther.  For  this  man 
friend  of  those  two ; 
f  late — there  was  no 
Mr.  Thompson  lis- 
aid: 

a  very  peculiar  posi- 
)11.  The  description 
put  before  you  could 
pne  that  most  young 
an  fancy  that  a  good 
ly '  Like  grandfather, 
ned  to  have  anything 


. '  f<m 


•TAVD  FAST,  OKAIO-BOTflTOVt 


841 


more  to  do  with  either.  And  yet  I  understand  that,  however 
doabtfn!  or  puzzled  you  may  have  been,  at  least  you  never  had 
any  suspicion  of  Margaret  I" 

"  Suspicion  t"  said  Vincent     "  Of  the  girl  whom  I  hope  to 
make  my  wife  f    I  need  not  answer  the  question." 
r     Mr.  Thompson  gave  a  bit  of  a  laugh,  in  a  quiet,  triumphant 
manner. 

"Evidently  my  little  Omahussy  had  her  eyes  widely  and 
wisely  open  when  she  made  her  choice.,"  said  he,  apparently  to 
himself. 

"  And  what  can  I  do  now !"  Vincent  went  on,  in  a  half-de- 
spairing way.  "  Yon  say  yon  aee  certain  they  are  not  in  Canada, 
or  they  would  l  ,ve  come  to  see  you.  The  Scotchmen  in  New 
York  told  me  they  were  positive  Mr.  Bethuno  was  not  there,  or 
he  would  have  shown  up  at  the  Burns  Anniversary.  Well,  where 
can  I  go  now?  I  must  find  her — I  cannot  rest  until  I  have 
found  her — to  have  everything  explained — and — and  to  find 
out  her  reason  for  going  away--" 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  slowly,  "  what  old  George 
hpd  in  his  head  this  time !  To  him,  as  I  say,  fancies  are  just 
as  real  as  facts,  and  I  cannot  but  imagine  that  this  has  been  his 
doing.  She  would  not  ask  him  to  break  up  a11  his  arrangements 
and  ways  of  living  for  her  sake  ^  she  was  too  submissive  and 
dependent  on  him  for  that;  it  is  she  who  has  conformed  to 
some  sudden  whim  of  his.     You  had  no  quarrel  with  him  f" 

"A  quarrel!  Nothing  of  the  kind — not  the  shadow  of  a 
quarrel  I"  Vincent  excUimed. 

"  Did  you  mention  to  him  those  reports  about  himself !"  was 
the  next  question. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  did,  in  a  casual  sort  of  way,"  the  young  man 
answered  honestly.  *'  But  it  was  merely  to  account  for  any  pos- 
sible opposition  on  the  part  of  my  father;  and,  in  fact,  I  wanted 
Mr.  Bethune  to  consent  to  an  immediate  marriage  between  Mais- 
rie  and  myself." 

"And  what  did  Margaret  say  to  that!"  Mr.  Thompson  pro- 
ceeded to  ask ;  he  was  clearly  trying  to  pnzzle  out  for  himself 
the  mystery  of  this  situation. 

"  You  mean  the  last  time  I  saw  her — the  very  last  time,"  the 
young  man  answered  him.  "  Well,  she  seecrr^c'  greatly  troubled : 
as  I  mentioned  to  you,  there  was  some  wild  talk  about  degrad*- 


842 


STAIID  9 An,  OMAIO'llOTnOVI 


tion — ^fanry  degradation  having  anything  to  do  witL  Maisrie 
Bethnne  I— and  she  said  it  would  be  better  for  as  to  separate ; 
and  she  made  me  promise  certain  things.  Bat  I  «roaldil't  listen 
to  her;  I  was  going  down  to  Mendover;  I  made  sure  everything 
would  como  right  as  soon  as  I  could  get  back.  And  then,  when 
I  got  back,  they  were  gone — and  not  a  trace  of  them  left  bo- 
bind." 

'*Had  old  Cteoige  got  any  news  about  the  Balloray  estates  f 
the  banker  asked,  with  a  quick  look. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  Vincent  answered.  "  Besides,  if  there 
had  been  any  news  of  importance,  it  would  have  been  in  the 
papers ;  we  should  all  have  seen  it  I" 

"  And  you  and  Margaret  parted  '  ".  good  terms  f* 

"  Good  terms  t"  said  V'ucent.  "  That  is  hardly  the  phrase. 
Bat  beyond  what  I  told  you,  I  cannot  say  more.  There  are 
some  things  that  are  for  myself  alone." 

"  Quite  right — qnito  right,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  hastily,  "  I 
quite  understand." 

At  this  moment  a  card  was  brought  in. 

**  Tell  the  gentleman  I  will  see  him  directly,"  was  the  reply. 

Vincent,  of  course,  rose. 

"  I  confess,"  said  the  banker, "  that  the  whole  affair  perplexes 
me ;  and  I  should  like  a  little  time  to  think  it  over.  Have  you 
any  engagement  for  this  evening  I" 

"  No,"  said  Vincent ;  "  I  only  arrived  in  Toronto  last  night ; 
and  I  don't  suppose  I  know  any  one  in  the  town." 

"  Come  and  dine  with  me  at  my  dub,  then,  this  evening,  will 

you  f    Just  our  two  selves :  the club,  at  seven.    I  want  to 

talk  to  you  about  this  nutter;  for  I  have  a  particular  interest, 
as  you  'may  suppose,  in  the  little  Maggie ;  and  I  want  to  know 
what  it  all  means.  I  should  like  to  learn  something  more  about 
yon,  too,  in  view  of  certun  possibilities.  And  perhaps  I  can 
give  you  a  few  hints  about  my  old  friend  Oeorge,  for  yon  don't 
quite  seem  to  understand,  even  with  all  the  chances  you  have 
had.  Yes,  I  can  see  a  little  doubt  in  your  mind  at  times.  You 
would  rather  shut  your  eyes — for  Margaret's  sak  j,  no  doubt ; 
but  I  want  to  show  you  that  there  isn't  much  of  that  needed,  if 
yon  only  look  the  right  way.  However,  more  of  that  when  we 
meet  At  seven,  then.  Sorry  to  seem  so  rude— but  this  is  an 
appointment — " 


1 


do  witL  Bfaisrie 
or  QB  to  separate ; 
it  I  woaldd't  listen 
de  sore  everything 
:.  And  then,  when 
:e  of  them  left  bo- 

Balloray  estates  F' 

*'  Besides,  if  there 
have  been  in  the 

ermsf 

hardly  the  phrase. 
J  more.    There  are 

ompson,  hastily,  "  I 


,ly,"  was  the  reply. 

rhoie  affair  perplexes 
'i  it  over.    Have  you 

I  Toronto  last  night; 

town." 

en,  this  evening,  will 

at  seven.    I  want  to 
a  partienlar  interest, 

and  I  want  to  know 
omothing  more  aboot 

And  perhaps  I  can 
Gkorge,  for  yon  don't 
he  chances  yon  have 
'  mind  at  times.  Yoa 
ret's  salt  j,  no  doubt ; 
iich  of  that  needed,  if 
more  of  that  when  we 
>  rude— but  this  is  an 


BTAVD  VAST,  OnAIO-BOTSTOM  I 


That  proved  to  be  a  memorable  evening.  To  begin  with 
small  things :  Vincent,  after  his  late  solitary  wanderings  in  un- 
familiar conditions  of  life,  now  and  suddenly  found  himself  at 
home.  The  quiet,  old-fashioned  unobtrusive  comfort  of  this 
club ;  the  air  of  staid  respectability ;  the  manner  of  the  waiters ; 
the  very  cooking,  and  the  order  in  which  the  wines  were  handed 
— all  appeared  to  him  to  be  so  thoroughly  English;  and  the 
members,  judging  by  little  points  here  and  there,  seemed  also 
to  be  curiously  English  in  their  habits  and  ways.  He  had  re- 
ceived a  similar  impression  on  his  first  visit  to  Toronto ;  but  on 
this  occasion  it  was  more  marked  than  ever ;  perhaps  the  good- 
humored  friendliness  of  this  Scotch  banker  had  something  to  do 
with  it,  and  their  being  able  to  talk  about  people  in  whom  they 
had  a  co>  non  concern.  However,  it  was  after  dbner,  in  a 
snug  come  of  the  smoking-room,  that  Mr.  Thompson  proceeded 
to  tidk  of  his  old  friend  in  a  fashion  that  considerably  astonished 
the  yoang  man  who  was  his  guest 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  after  he  had  examined  and  cross- 
examined  Vincent  with  regard  to  certain  occurrences,  "there  is 
no  doubt  f,l  all  that  George  Bethune  is  a  rank  old  impostor;  bqt 
the  person  on  whom  he  has  mostly  imposed,  all  his  life  throngh, 
has  been— George  Bethune.  I  suppose,  now,  every  one  of  us 
has  in  his  nature  a  certain  amount  of  self-deception ;  it  would 
be  a  pity  if  it  weren't  so.  But  here  is  this  man  who  has  been 
gifted  with  a  quite  unlimited  faculty  of  self-deception ;  »nd-with 
a  splendid  imagination,  too-~the  imagination  of  a  poet,  without 
a  poet's  reqwnsibilities ;  so  that  he  lives  in  a  world  entirely  of 
his  own  creation,  and  sees  things  just  as  he  wants  to  see  them. 
As  I  say,  he  has  the  imagination  of  a  poet,  and  the  nnworldli- 
ness  of  a  poet,  without  any  one  calling  him  to  do  anything  to 
prove  his  powers ;  he  is  too  busy  constructing  his  own  fanciful 
universe  for  himself;  and  all  the  common  things  of  life— debts, 
bills,  undertakingB,  and  so  forth— they  have  no  existence  for 
him.  Ah,  well,  well,"  Mr.  Thompson  went  on,  as  he  lay  back 
in  his  chair,  and  watched  the  blue  curls  of  smoke  from  lis  cigar, 
"  I  don't  know  whether  to  call  it  a  pity  or  not.  Sometimes  one 
is  inclined  to  envy  him  his  happy  temperament.  I  don't  know 
any  human  creatnre  who  has  a  braver  spirit,  whose  conscience 
is  dearer  to  himself,  who  can  sleep  with  greater  equanimity  and 
content    Why  should  he  mind  what  circumstance*  are  around 


^■ 


'"'*ffl!|fc'^w^ 


844 


BTAND    FAST,  OBAIO-ROTSTOM I 


him  "faon  in  a  single  second  he  can  transport  himsi:!!  to  the 
Dowie  Dens  o'  Yarrow  or  be  off  on  a  raid  with  Kinmont  Willie  ? 
And  there's  nothing  that  ho  will  not  seize  if  ho  has  a  mind  to  it 
— a  sounding  name,  a  tradition,  an  historical  incident — why,  ho 
laid  hold  of  the  Bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorio,  carried  them  off 
bodily  to  Balloray,  and  I  suppose  wild  horses  wouldn't  tear  from 
him  the  admission  that  Balloray  never  had  anything  to  do  with 
those  mill-dams  or  the  story  of  the  two  Qisters — " 

"  I  know,"  said  Vincent ;  "  Maisrie  told  me  about  that" 

"  Maisrie  I"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  with  a  return  of  his  former 
impatience.  "  That  is  another  of  his  fantasticalities.  I  tell  yon 
her  name  is  Margaret — " 

"  But  she  has  been  Maisrie  to  me,  and  Maisrie  she  will  be  to 
me  always,"  Vincent  made  answer  stoutly — for  surely  he  had 
gome  right  to  speak  on  this  matter  too.  "  As  I  said  this  morn- 
ing, it  is  only  a  pet  name  for  Margaret ;  and  if  she  chooses  to 
use  it,  to  please  her  grandfather,  or  to  please  herself  even — " 

"  Stay  a  :aoment :  I  want  to  show  yon  something." 

The  banker  put  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket,  and  pulled 
out  an  envelope. 

"  Not  the  photograph  t"  said  Vincent,  rather  breathlessly. 

Mr.  Thompson  smiled  in  his  quiet,  sagacious  way. 

"  When  I  mentioned  this  portrait  to  you  to-day,"  said  he,  "  I 
saw  something  in  your  eyes — ^though  you  were  too  modest  to 
put  your  request  into  words.  W^ell,  I  have  brought  it ;  here  it 
is;  and  if  you'll  look  at  the  foot  you'll  see  that  the  little 
Omahnssy  signs  he  "self,  as  she  ought  to  sign  herself,  *  Margaret 
Bethune.' " 

And  what  a  revelation  was  this,  of  what  Maisrie  had  been  in 
the  years  before  he  had  known  her  I  The  quaint,  prim,  small 
miss! — he  could  have  laughed,  with  a  kind  of  delight:  only 
that  here  were  those  calm,  grave,  earnest  eyes,  that  seemed  to 
know  him,  that  seemed  to  speak  to  him.  Full  of  wistfulness 
they  were,  and  dreams :  they  said  to  him,  "  I  am  looking  for- 
ward ;  I  am  waiting  till  I  meet  you — my  friend ;  life  has  that 
in  store — for  you  and  me." 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  interested,"  said  Mr.  Thompson, 
blandly.  "  And  I  know  you  would  like  me  to  give  you  that 
photograph :  perhaps  you  think  you  have  some  right  to  it,  hav- 
ing won  the  young  lady  herself — " 


»)pi!i!fWWIIiii ..J  m. jiilj  [ii);^pt^»PBpw)y|P!ii|i|||iuiiiiitwytiwiw 


)  about  that." 
iturn  of  his  fonner 
calities.    I  tell  you 

lisrio  she  will  be  to 
-for  surely  he  had 
LS  I  said  this  morn- 
i  if  she  chooses  to 
herself  even- 
nething." 
-pocket,  and  pulled 


ler  breathlessly. 

)us  way. 

to-day,"  said  he,  "I 

were  too  modest  to 
brought  it ;  here  it 
see  that  the  little 

:n  herself, '  Margaret 

Maisrie  had  been  io 
3  quaint,  prim,  small 
nd  of  delight:  only 
eyes,  that  seemed  to 
Full  of  wistfulness 
,  « I  am  looking  f  or- 
friend ;  life  has  that 

said  Mr.  Thompson, 
me  to  give  you  that 
some  right  to  it,  bav- 


'■   i 


■■' 


r,»wi"vii«i^ 


' "'"'"'  !!*f-'V?l>!*P-  '•■!'!■  '''J-'^''^" 


■ffAVO  FAIT,  ORAIO'BOTMOM  I 

« Won  her  f'  uid  Vlnosnt,  itill  oontempUting  thia  strange, 
quaint  portrait  that  teemed  to  apeak  to  him  aonishow.  "  It 
hardly  looka  like  it."     ' 

*'  Well,  I  cannot  give  yon  the  photograph,"  the  elderly  Scotch- 
man  cuntioued,  in  his  friendly  way,  "  bat,  if  yoa  like,  I  will 
h&re  it  copied — perhaps  even  enUrged,  if  it  will  stand  it — and 
I  will  send  you  one — " 

"Will  yout"  said  Vincent,  with  a  flash  of  gratitude  in  his 
eyes.     "  To  me  it  would  be  simply  a  priceless  treasure." 

"  I  just  thought  it  would  be,"  Mr.  Thompson  said,  consider- 
ately. "  IVe  seen  something  of  the  ways  of  young  people  in 
my  time.  Yes ;  I'll  send  you  a  copy  or  two  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  them  done." 

Vincent  handed  back  the  photograph — ^reluctantly,  and  keep- 
ing his  eyes  on  it  until  it  had  disappeared. 

"  I  brought  it  out  to  show  you  she  could  si^  her  name  prop- 
erly when  under  proper  instruction,"  the  banker  continued.' 
"And  now^t?  /etum  to  her  grandfather,  who  seems  to  have 
pussled  yon  a  little,  as  well  might  be  the  case.  I  can  see  how 
you  have  been  trying  to  blind  yourself  to  certai.  things:  no 
doubt  you  looked  towards  Margaret,  and  thought  she  would 
make  up  for  all.  But  I  surmise  you  have  been  a  little  unjust 
to  my  old  friend ;  notwithstanding  your  association  with  him, 
you  have  not  quite  understood  him ;  and  perhaps  that  is  hardly 
to  be  wondered  at.  And  certainly  you  would  never  take  him  to 
be  what  I  Ansidor  him  to  be— «  very  great  man  who  has  been 
spoiled  by  a  fatal  inheritance.  I  do  truly  and  honestly  believe 
there  were  the  makings  of  a  great  man  in  George  Bethnne— • 
man  with  his  indomitable  pluck  and  self-reliance,  his  imsgins- 
tion,  his  restless  energy,  his  splendid  audacity  and  independence 
of  character.  Even  now  I  sec  something  heroic  in  him:  he 
seems  to  me  a  man  of  heroic  build — of  heroic  attitude  towards 
the  rest  of  the  world :  people  may  say  what  they  like  about 
George  Bethnne ;  but  I  know  him  better  than  most,  and  I  wholly 
admire  him  and  love  him.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  tiiat  miserable 
property  I  I  suppose,  now,  a  large  estate  may  turn  out  a  fort- 
unate or  unfortunate  legacy  accordingly  as  you  one  it ;  but  if 
your  legacy  is  only  the  knowledge  that  the  estate  ought  to  be 
youn,  and  isn't,  that  is  a  fine  set  of  circnmstances !  And  1  have 
little  doubt  it  was  to  forget  tiiat  wretched  law-suit,  to  escape 
V* 


wiio.n'  ■— ---  ■ 


i 


_.* 


"'^^^■'Wj 


84e 


91  An  rAar,  onAto-aonroai 


from  M  ee«Mlen  and  qmIcm  diMppointnitnt,  tiut  ho  took  ref ufi;e 
In  a  world  of  imagination,  and  built  up  duluHiona  round  about 
him — just  aa  other  people  take  rofugo  in  gin  or  iu  opium.  At 
all  eventa,  hiii  apirit  haa  not  been  eruahed.  Did  yon  ever  hear 
him  whine  and  complain  f — I  should  think  not  I  He  haa  kept  a 
stout  heart,  haa  old  Qeorj^e  fic.liuno.  Perhaps,  indeed,  hia  pride 
haa  been  exressire.  Ilere  am  I,  for  example :  I'm  getting  well 
on  in  years, and  I  haven't  a  single  near  relntive  now  living;  I've 
acraped  together  a  fe^v  sixpences  in  my  time ;  and  nothing  would 
give  me  greater  pleaaure  than  if  George  Bethune  were  to  como 
to  me  and  ask  me  to  share  my  purse  wi^'u  him.  And  he  knows 
it  too.  But  would  he  t  Not  a  bit  I  Rather  than  oome  to  me  and 
get  some  useful  sum,  he  would  go  and  get  a  few  poands  ont  of 
somo  newspaper-office  on  account  of  one  of  his  frantic  aohemes 
to  do  something  flno  for  poor  old  Scotland.  No,"  the  banker 
proceedtjd,  with  rather  an  Injured  air,  "  I  sn{Jpose  I'm  not  dis- 
tingaishcd  enough.  Friend  Gleorge  haa  sotiie  very  high  and 
mighty  notions  about  the  claims  of  long  descent — and  no6U$ce 
oblige — and  all  that  It  is  a  condescension  on  hia  part  to  accept 
help  from  any  one ;  and  it  is  the  privilege  of  those  who  have 
birth  and  lineage  like  himself  to  be  allowed  to  come  to  his  aid. 
Fm  only  Thompaon.  If  I  wore  descended  from  Richard  Caur 
de  Lion  I  suppose  it  would  be  different  Has  he  ever  accepted 
any  money  from  you  t" 

"  Never,"  said  Vincent — who  was  not  going  to  recall  a  few 
restaurant  bills  and  cab  fares.  ** 

"  No,"  resumed  the  banker.  "  Your  name  is  Harris.  But 
when  it  comes  to  Lord  Musselburgh,  that  is  quite  different,  that 
is  all  right  No  doubt  Lord  Musselburgh  was  quite  prond  to 
be  allowed  to  subscribe— how  mnob  was  itt — towarda  a  book 
that  never  oame  oat" 

"  Oh,  bat  I  ought  to  expUin  that  that  money  was  paid  back,** 
said  Vincent,  quickly. 

"  Paid  back  f  repeated  the  banker,  itariiig.  "  That  is  a  new 
feature,  indeed  1  The  money  paid  back  to  Lord  Musselbargh ! 
Row  did  that  come  about  t  How  did  friend  Gleorge  yield  to  a 
weakness  of  that  kind  t" 

*'  The  fact  is,"  said  Vincent,  blnshing  like  a  school-boy,  **  1 
paid  it" 

**  Without  letting  the  old  gentleman  know  f* 


roai 


t,  th«t  ho  took  ref  uf^e 

oInsioM  round  about 

gin  or  iu  opium.     At 

Did  yon  ever  hear 

not  I     He  haa  kept  a 

lapa,  indeed,  hii  pride 

iple :  I'm  getting  well 

ative  now  living;  I'vo 

10 ;  and  nothing  would 

Detbune  wore  to  como 

him.     And  he  knows 

ir  than  come  to  me  and 

it  •  few  poonda  oat  of 

of  hifl  frantic  achemeii 

tnd.     No,"  the  banker 

I  aufipoae  I'm  not  dis- 

I  some  very  high  and 

descent — and  nMuu 

m  on  his  part  to  accept 

ego  of  those  who  have 

wed  to  come  to  his  aid. 

led  from  Richard  Cseur 

Has  he  ever  accepted 

i  going  to  recall  a  few 

name  ia  Harris.  But 
t  is  quite  different,  that 
'gh  was  quite  proud  to 
M  itt — towards  a  book 

money  was  paid  back,** 

aring.  "  That  is  a  new 
:  to  Lord  Musselburgh  t 
riend  Cteorge  yield  to  a 

g  like  a  school-lK>y,  <*1 

inowf 


■TAIID   FAST,  0nAIO*BOTST0K  I 


847 


••Yea." 

"  Then  eieuiie  my  saying  so,"  Mr.  Thompson  observed,  "  but 
you  threw  away  your  money  to  very  little  purpose.  If  Qeorge 
Bethune  is  willing  to  tcke  a  check  from  Lord  Mussolbnrgb—if 
he  ran  do  so  without  tne  slightest  loss  of  self-respect  or  dignity 
— why  should  not  his  lordship  be  allowed  to  help  a  brother 
Scot  I     W'ly  should  you  interfere  t" 

"  It  was  for  Maisiie's  sake,"  said  Vincent,  looking  down. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes,"  m«  banker  said,  knitting  his  browa.  "  That 
is  where  the  trouole  comes  in.  I  shouldn't  mind  letting  George 
Bethune  go  his  own  way ;  he  ia  all  right ;  his  self-sufficiency 
will  carry  him  through  anything :  bnt  for  a  sensitive  girl  like 
that  it  must  be  terrible.  I  wonder  how  much  she  suspects,"  he 
went  ofi.  "  I  wonder  how  much  site  sees.  Or  if  it  is  possible 
he  has  blinded  her  aa  well  aa  himself  to  their  circumstances  t 
For  you  must  remember  this  —  I  am  talking  to  you  nor,  Mn 
Harris,  as  one  who  may  have  a  closer  relationship  with  those 
two— you  must  remember  this,  that  to  himself  Oecrge  Bethnne's 
conscience  is  aa  :'ear  as  that  of  a  one-year-old  child.  Do  yoa 
think  Le  sees  anything  ahady  or  unsatisfactory  in  these  little 
transactions  of  forgetfulnesses  of  hist  He  is  careless  of  mo.  ey 
because  he  despises  it.  If  he  had  any,  and  you  wanted  it,  it 
would  be  yours." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Vincent,  eagerly ;  and  he  told  the  story 
of  their  meeting  the  poor  woman  in  Hyde  Park. 

'*  Take  thai  string  of  charges  yon  opoke  of,"  the  banker  re- 
sumed. *'  1  have  not  the  least  doubt  that,  from  the  poiiit  of 
view  of  the  people  who  discovered  those  things,  their  story  waa 
quit«  accurate.  Except,  perhaps,  about  his  calling  himself  Lord 
Bethune ;  I  don't  believe  that,  and  never  heard  of  it ;  that  was 
more  likely  a  bit  of  toadyism  on  the  part  of  some  bar-loungers. 
But,  aa  I  «ay,  from  a  solicitor's  pc'.nt  of  view,  Qeorge  Bethune 
wonld,  no  doubt,  be  regarded  as  an  habitual  impostor;  whereas  to 
himaoif  he  is  no  impostor  at  all,  bat  a  perfectly  honorable  per- 
son, whose  every  act'  oac  challenge  the  light  of  day.  If  tkwe  is 
any  wrong  or  injury  in  the  relations  between  him  and  the  world, 
be  sore  he  considers  himself  the  wronged  and  injured  one; 
though  yon  most  admit  he  does  net  comphun.  The  question  is, 
does  Margaret  see  t  Or  has  he  brought  her  up  in  that  world  of 
imaginatioa— careless  of  the  reid  facts  of  life — persuading  your> 


848 


BTARD  VAST,  OnAia-ROTBTOH  I 


self  of  anything  yoa  wish  to  beliore— thinking  little  of  rent  or 
batchers'  bills  so  long  as  yoa  can  escape  into  the  merry  green 
wood  and  live  with  Burd  Helens  and  Ji^y  CoUeans  and  the  like  t 
Yoa  see,  when  I  knew  her  she  was  little  more  than  a  child ;  it 
woold  never  occur  to  her  to  question  the  conduct  of  her  grand- 
father ;  but  now  yon  say  she  is  a  woman — she  may  have  begun 
to  look  at  things  for  herself —  " 

Mr.  Thompson  paused,  and  eyed  )iis  companion  curiously. 
For  a  strange  expression  had  come  into  Viocent's  face. 

"What  then!"  asked  the  banker.        Wi's'-^U^W.-  "*M' 

"  I  am  beginning  to  understand,"  the  young  main  said,  <'  and— 
and — perhaps  here  is  the  reason  of  Maisrie's  going  away.  Sup- 
pose she  imagined  that  I  suspected  her  grandfather — suppose 
she  thought  I  considered  those  reports  true — ^then  she  might 
take  that  as  a  personal  insult;  she  might  be  too  proud  to 
offer  any  defense;  she  would  go  to  her  grandfather  and 
say,  'Grandfather,  if  this  is  what  he  and  his  friends  think 
of  us,  it  is  time  we  should  take  definite  steps  to  end  this  com- 
panionship.* It  has  been  all  my  doing,  then,  since  I  was  so 
blind  I"  Vinceqt  continued,  evidently  in  deep  distress.  "  I  don't 
wonder  that  she  was  offended  and  *nsulted — ^and — and  she  would 
be  too  proud  to  explain.  I  have  all  along  had  a  kind  of  notion 
that  she  had  something  to  do,  perhaps  everything  to  do,  with 
their  going  away.     And  yet — " 

He  was  silent  Mr.  Thompson  waited  for  a  second  or  two, 
not  wishing  to  interrupt ;  then  he  said : 

"  Of  course  you  know  her  better  than  I  do ;  bat  that  is  not 
how  I  should  read  the  situation.  It  is  far  more  probable  that 
her  own  eyes  have  been  gradually  opening — not  to  what  her 
grandfather  is,  bat  to  what  ho  may  appear  to  be  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world  ;  and  when  she  has  come  more  and  more  to  perceive 
the  little  likelihood  of  his  being  considerately  judged,  she  may 
have  determined  that  yon  should  be  set  free  from  all  association 
with  hiin  and  with  her,  I  think  that  is  far  more  likely,  in  view 
of  the  things  you  have  told  me.  And  I  can  imagine  her  doing 
that  A  resolute  young  creature ;  ready  to  sacrifice  herself ; 
used  to  wandering,  too — ^her  first  solution  of  any  difficulty  would 
be  to  '  go  away.'  A  touch  of  pride,  perhaps,  as  well.  I  dar« 
say  she  has  discovered  that  if  yon  look  at  Oeorge  Bethnne 
through  blue  spectacles,  his  way  of  life  mast  look  rather  qaes- 


Li'WiPlWHJpffWU'lWW 


'■■WMwavt»  t  f^wpnif  1 1^['}KJ V' 


^ 


8TA1ID  TABT,  OAAIO-pOTSTOK  I 


340 


ig  little  nf  rent  or 
•  the  merry  green 
leans  and  the  like ! 
'<)  than  a  child ;  it 
lact  of  her  grand- 
e  may  have  begun 

apanion  cnrioualy. 
snt'a  face. 

r  man  said, "  and — 
going  awaj.  Sap- 
idf ather — suppose 
e — ^then  she  might 
,  be  too  proud  to 
r  grandfather  and 
i  his  friends  think 
>s  to  end  this  corn- 
en,  since  I  was  so 
distress.  "  I  don't 
md. — and  she  would 
id  a  kind  of  notion 
rything  to  do,  with 

»r  a  second  or  two, 

lo ;  but  that  is  not 
more  probable  that 
r — not  to  what  her 
bo  be  in  the  eyes  of 
id  more  to  perceive 
sly  judged,  she  may 
from  all  association 
more  likely,  in  view 
1  imagine  her  doing 
to  sacrifice  herself; 
any  difficulty  would 
tps,  as  well.  I  dar* 
at  Oeorge  Bethune 
tst  look  rather  ques- 


tionable ;  but  if  you  look  at  him  through  pink  spectacles,  every- 
thing is  pleasant  and  fine,  and  even  grand.  But  would  she  ask 
any  one  to  put  on  a  pair  of  pink  spectacles  ?  No ;  for  she  has 
the  stiff  neck  of  the  Bethunes.  I  imagine  she  can  hold  her  head 
as  high  as  any  one,  now  she  is  grown  up.  And  of  course  she  will 
not  ask  for  generous  interpretation ;  she  will  rather  '  go  away.' " 

\  incent  was  still  silent ;  but  at  length  he  said — as  if  speak- 
ing to  himself — 

"  I  wonder  whiat  Maisrie  must  have  thought  of  me." 

He  had  evidently  been  going  over  all  that  had  happened  in 
those  bygone  days — by  the  ligh*)  of  this  new  knowledge. 

"  What  do  you  mean !"  the  banker  said. 

"Why,  if  there  were  any  generous  interpretation  needed  or 
expected,  surely  it  should  have  come  first  of  all  from  me.  The 
outside  world  might  be  excused  for  thinking  this  or  that  of  Mr. 
Bethune ;  but  I  was  constantly  with  him ;  and  then,  look  at  the 
relations  that  existed  between  Maisrie  and  myself.  I  thought  I 
was  doing  enough  in  the  way  of  generosity  when  I  tried  to  shut 
my  eyes  to  certain  things ;  whereas  I  should  have  tried  to  see 
more  clearly.  I  might  have  understood — if  any  one.  I  remem- 
ber now  Maisrie's  saying  to  me  on  one  occasion — ^it  was  about 
that  book  on  the  Scottish-American  poets — she  said  quite  pite- 
ously:  'Don't  you  understand?  Don't  you  understand  that 
grandfather  can  persnade  himself  of  anything!  If  he  has 
thought  a  thing  over,  he  considers  it  done,  and  is  ready  for 
something  else.'    And  then  there  was  >.tother  time — ^" 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  good-naturedly, "  I  don't 
see  you  have  much  to  reproach  yourself  with.  Yon  must  admit 
that  that  afiEair — if  he  really  did  see  the  proof-sheets  in  New 
York-' looked  pretty  bad.  You  say  yourself  that  Hugh  An- 
stmther  was  ati^^red  by  it — " 

"Yes,  he  was,"  said  Vincent,  "until  I  explained  that  the 
money  had  been  repaid  to  Lord  Musselburgh,  and  also  that  I 
had  no  doubt  Mr.  Bethune  considered  himself,  from  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  subject,  quite  entitled  to  publish  a  volume  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water.  Mr.  Ross's  book  was  published  only  on 
this  side — at  least,  that  is  my  impression." 

"IHd  yon  tell  Anstmther  who  repniil  the  money  to  Lord  Mus- 
selburgh t"  Mr.  Thompson  asked,  with  a  shrewd  glance. 

"  No  "  answered  Vincent,  looking  rather  shamefaced. 


M 


^  1 


3' 


sso 


RAra  VAM,  CBAIO-BOTITORI 


•<  Ah,  we]],**  the  banker  said,  "  a  freak  of  geuerodty  ia  veiy 
pardonable  in  a  yoang  man,  especially  where  a  yonng  lady  is 
concerned.  And  yon  had  the  means  besides.  Yocr  father  ia  a 
rich  man,  isn't  he  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  pretty  well'* 

"  And  yon — now  forgive  my  cariosity,  it  only  arises  from  my 
interest  in  Margaret— I  dare  say  you  are  aUowed  a  anfficient  in. 
come !" 

"  I  have  more  money  than  I  need,"  said  Vincent,  frankly, 
«  but  of  coarse  that  wonld  not  be  the  case  if  I  married  Maisrie 
Bethane,  for  then  I  should  hare  to  depend  on  my  own  re- 
sources.   I  should  have  to  earn  my  own  living." 

**  Oh,  earn  your  own  living  t  Well,  that  is  very  commenda- 
ble, in  any  case.  And  how  do  you  propose  to  earn  your  own 
Uvingf" 

<'  By  writing  for  the  newspapers." 

«Have  you  had  any  experience  t"  Maiarie's  "second  father" 
continued. 

"  Yes,  a  little ;  and  I  have  had  fair  encouragement  Besides, 
I  know  one  or  two  important  people  in  the  newspaper  world." 

*'  And  what  about  your  seat  in  Parliament  f 

•*  That  would  not  interfere ;  there  are  several  journalists  in 
the  House." 
'  The  banker  considered  for  a  little  while. 

"  Seems  a  little  hasardous,  doesn't  it,  to  break  away  from  a 
certainty  of  income  f  he  asked,  at  length.  "  Are  you  quite 
convinced  that  if  you  married  Margaret  your  relatives  wonld 
prove  so  implacable  f ' 

*'  It  isn't  what  they  would  do  that  is  the  question,"  Vincent 
responded,  with  promptitude.  "  It  is  what  I  should  be  inclined 
to  do.  At  present  they  regard  Maisrie  as  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  common  adventuress  and  swindler — or  rather  an  uncom- 
mon one — a  remarkably  clever  one.  Now  do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  take  her  by  the  hand,  and  lead  her  up  to  them,  and 
aay, '  Dear  papa,'  or  '  Dear  aunt,'  as  the  case  may  be, '  here  is 
the  adventuress  and  swindler  whom  I  have  married,  but  she  is 
not  going  to  be  wicked  any  more ;  she  is  going  to  reform ;  and 
I  beg  you  to  receive  her  into  the  family,  and  forgive  her  all  that 
she  has  been ;  and  also  I  hope  that  you  will  give  me  money  to 
support  her  and  myself.'    You  see,"  continued  Vineen^  "  be- 


STAm>  WMSt,  ORAIO-BOTnom 


Sftl 


geueronty  is  very 
e  a  yoang  lady  is 
Tocr  father  is  a 


»nly  arises  from  my 
wed  a  safficient  in^ 

1  Vincent,  frankly, 
f  I  married  Maisrie 
id  on  my  own  re- 

is  very  commenda- 
ie  to  earn  your  own 


e*8*< second  father" 

iragement    Beddes, 

newspaper  world." 

itr 

leveral  joanudists  in 


>  break  away  from  a 
1.  *'  Are  yon  qoite 
your  relatives  would 

le  question,"  Vincent 
1 1  should  be  inclined 
nothing  more  nor  less 
—or  n^her  an  nncom- 
r  do  yon  think  I  am 
her  up  to  them,  and 
case  may  be,  'here  is 
re  married,  but  she  is 
going  to  reform ;  and 
ind  forgire  her  all  that 
irill  give  me  raom^  to 
ntinaedViBoent,"  be- 


fore I  did  that  I  think  I  would  rather  try  to  find  out  how  much 
a  week  I  could  make  by  writing  leading-articles." 

"  Quite  right — quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  with  a  smile ; 
for  why  this  disdain  f — he  had  not  counselled  the  young  man  to 
debase  himself  so. 

"  And  then  it  isn't  breaking  away  from  any  certainty  of  in- 
come," Vincent  proceeded,  "  but  quite  the  reverse.  The  cer- 
tainty is  that  as  soon  as  I  announce  my  intention  of  marrying 
Miss  Bethune,  my  father  will  suggest  that  I  should  shift  for  my- 
self. Very  well  I'm  not  afraid.  I  can  take  my  chance,  Hke 
another.  They  say  that  poverty  is  a  good  test  of  affection :  I 
am  ready  to  face  it,  for  one." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  the  banker  interposed,  "  I  wish  you  to  un- 
derstand this — that  your  bride  won't  come  to  you  empty-handed. 
Creorge  Bethune  may  hold  aloof  from  me  as  long  as  he  likes.  If 
he  thinks  it  is  more  dignified  for  him  to  go  cadging  about  with 
vagne  literary  projects — all  for  the  honor  and  glory  of  Scotland, 
no  doubt — instead  of  letting  his  oldest  friend  share  his  purse 
with  him,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  My  name's  only  Thompson; 
nobl«t$e  oblige  has  nothing  to  do  with  me.  But  when  my  little 
Margaret  walks  into  church  to  meet  the  man  of  her  choice,  it 
will  be  my  business  to  see  that  she  is  suitably  provided  for.  I 
do  not  mean  to  boast,  or  make  rash  promises,  or  raise  false  ex- 
pectations ;  but  when  her  husband  brings  her  away  it  will  be  no 
pauper  he  is  taking  home  with  him.  And  i  want  to  add  this, 
since  we  are  talking  in  confidence :  I  hope  her  husband  will  be 
none  other  than  yourself.  Hike  you.  I  like  the  way  you  have 
spoken  of  both  grandfather  and  granddaughter ;  and  I  like  your 
independence.  By  all  means  when  you  get  back  to  the  old 
country :  by  all  means  carry  out  that  project  of  yours  of  earn- 
ing an  income  for  yourself.  It  can  do  you  no  harm,  whatever 
happens;  it  may  be  invaluable  to  you  in  certain  ciroumstanees. 
And  in  the  meantime,  if  I  may  still  further  adrise,  ga«  np  this 
search  of  yours  for  tiie  present  I  daro  say  yon  are  now  con- 
vinced they  are  not  op  this  side  the  water ;  well,  let  that  snflBce 
for  the  time  being.  Here  is  Parliament  coming  together;  yon 
have  your  position  to  make ;  and  the  personal  friend  and  pro- 
t£g6  of  Qrandison  should  surely  have  a  great  chance  in  public  life. 
Of  course,  you  will  say  it  is  easy  to  talk.  But  don't  misunderstand 
mo.    What  can  yon  do  except  attend  to  these  inunediate  and 


-i. 


8SS 


BTAITD  rABT,  OBAIO-BOTSTOITI 


practical  affairs  t  If  Oeorge  Bethune  and  Margaret  have  decided, 
for  reasons  best  known  to  themselves,  to  sever  the  association 
between  yoa  and  thorn,  mere  advertising  won't  bring  them  back. 
And  searching  the  streets  of  this  or  that  town  Is  a  pretty  hope- 
less basiness.  No ;  if  you  hear  of  them,  it  will  not  be  in  that 
way :  it  will  be  through  some  communication  with  some  common 
friend,  and  just  as  likely  as  not  that  friend  will  be  myself." 

All  this  seemed  very  reasonable  —  and  hopeless.  Vincent 
rose. 

"  I  must  not  keep  yon  up  too  late,"  said  he,  in  an  absent  sort 
of  way.  "  I  suppose  you  are  right — I  may  as  well  go  away  back 
to  England  at  once.  But  of  course  I  will  call  to  see  yon  before 
I  go— to-morrow,  M  I  may — to  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness." 

"  Ah,  but  you  must  keep  up  your  heart,  you  know,"  the 
banker  said,  regarding  the  young  man  in  a  favoring  way.  "  No 
despair.  Why,  I  am  sure  to  h^nr  from  one  or  other  of  them ; 
they  cannot  guess  that  you  have  been  here ;  even  if  they  wuh 
to  keep  their  whereabouts  concealed  from  you  they  would  have 
no  such  secret  from  me.  And  be  sure  I  will  send  yon  word  the 
moment  I  hear  anything.  I  presume  the  House  of  Commons 
will  be  your  simplest  and  surest  address." 

As  he  walked  away  home  that  night  Vincent  had  many 
things  to  ponder  over ;  but  the  question  of  questions  was  as  to 
whether  Maisrie  had  indignantly  scorned  him  for  his  blindness 
in  not  perceiving  more  clearly  her  grandfather's  nature  and  oir- 
enmstances,  or  for  his  supineness  in  wavering,  and  half-admitting 
that  these  charges  might  bring  disquiet.  For  now  the  figure  of 
old  Oeorge  Bethune  seemed  to  stand  out  distinctly  enough :  an 
amiable  and  innocent  monomaniac ;  a  romantic  enthusiast ;  a 
sublime  egotist ;  a  dreamer  of  dreams ;  a  thaumaturgist  sur- 
roonding  himself  with  delusions  and  not  knowing  them  to  be 
such.  And  if  Daniel  Thompson's  reading  of  the  character  of 
his  old  friend  was  accurate — if  George  Bethune  had  merely  in 
splendid  excess  that  faculty  of  self-deception  which  in  lesser 
measnre  was  common  to  all  mortals — who  was  going  to  cast  the 
fimt  stone  I 


*»— 1|^W-IH'.I  •••H..f  'i;'!g"'.".'.'  '  '      '"   .' :  ^■-"  ■V'^"-'l";!yM»"  »'   ';"  '"i|"-t>!'4ftl;'«l'.  »i»";.gl!l'M»n|»»i'Hi    ,.    iiJiJ|l.j||ii.ni.nll,imij|in| 


aret  have  decided, 

er  the  association 

bring  tliem  back. 

I  is  a  pretty  hope- 
rill  not  be  in  that 
rith  some  common 

II  be  myself." 
opeleso.     Vincent 

I,  in  an  absent  sort 
well  go  away  back 
1  to  see  yon  before 
all  your  kindness." 
fc,  yon  know,"  the 
.Toring  way.  "  No 
or  other  of  them; 
even  if  they  wuh 
lu  they  would  haye 
send  yoa  word  the 
[ouse  of  Commons 

7'incent  had  many 
questions  was  as  to 
m  for  hm  blindness 
ler's  nature  and  cir- 
,  and  half -admitting 
>r  now  the  figure  of 
stinctly  enough :  an 
tantic  enthusiast;  a 

thaumatnrg^  snr- 
nowing  them  to  be 

of  the  character  of 
iinne  had  merely  in 
lion  which  in  lesser 
ras  going  to  cast  the 


i-i^. 


■  f.i,:4i^i.   :.. 


U^-}/i 


BTAVD  VAST,  OBAIO-BOTITOVr 

CHAPTER  XXn. 

If  ARBIAOI   HOT  "  A   LA   If  GDI." 


.an 


LoHDON  had  come  to  life  again ;  the  meeting  of  Parliament 
had  .summoned  fathers  of  families  from  dktant  diiiies  And 
cities  —  from  Algiers  and  Athens,  from  Constantinople  and 
Cairo 4  the  light  blaiad  at  the  summit  of  the  clock-tower;  cabs 
and  carriages  rattled  into  Palace  Yard.  And  here,  at  a  table  in 
the  kdies'  dining-room  of  the  Honse  of  Commons,  sat  Mrs. 
Ellison  and  her  friend,  Louie  Drexel,  along  with  Lord  Mussel- 
burgh and  Vincent  Harris,  the  last-named  playing  the  part  of 
host  This  Miss  Drexel  was  rather  an  attractive-looking  little 
person,  brisk  and  trim  and  neat,  with  a  healthy  complexion,  a 
pert  nose,  and  the  most  astonishingly  clear  blue  eyes.  Very 
frank  those  eyes  were ;  almost  ruthless  in  a  way  ;  about  as  ruth- 
less as  the  young  lady's  tongue,  when  she  was  helping  contempt 
and  ridicule  on  some  conventionality  or  social  superstition. 
"  Siva  the  Destroyer,"  Vincent  used  gloomily  to  call  her,  when 
he  got  a  little  bit  tired  of  having  her  flung  at  his  head  by  the 
indefatigable  young  widow.  Nevertheless,  she  was  a  merry  and 
vivadons  companion ;  with  plenty  of  indfipendonce,  too ;  if  she  was 
being  flung  at  anybody's  head  it  was  with  no  consent  of  her  own. 

"Yon  don't  say  I"  she  wag  observing  to  Tier  companion. 
"  Fancy  any  one  being  in  Canada  in  the  winter  and  not  going 
to  see  the  night-tobogganing  at  Rideau  Hall  I"  ^ 

"  I  never  was  near  Ottawa,"  said  Vincent,  in  answer  to  her; 
"  and,  besides,  1  don't  know  the  viceroy." 

"  A  member  of  tiie  British  Parliament — ^travelling  in  Canada ; 
I  dont  think  you  woqld  have  to  wait  long  for  an  invitation," 
said  she.  "  Why,  you  missed  the  loveliest  thing^n  the  world — 
just  the  loveliest  thing  in  the  whole  worid  I— the  toboggan-slide 
all  lit  np  with  Chinese  lanterns  -the  black  pint  woods  all  around 
—the  clear  stars  overhead.  Then  they  have  great  bonfires  down 
in  the  hollow  —  to  keep  the  chaperons  from  freeiing;  poor 
things,  it  isn't  mnch  fun  for  them ;  I  dai«  say  they  find  oat 
S8 


<■  .ijllijfe. 


854 


HAITD  WAn,  ORAIO-BOTOtOKl 


what  a  good  thing  hot  coffee  is  on  a  cold  night  And  you  were 
at  Toronto  I"  she  added. 

"  Yes,  I  was  at  Toronto,'*  he  answered,  absently ;  indeed,  at 
this  time  he  was  thinking  mnch  oftener  of  Toronto  than  this 
yoang  lady  could  have  imagined — wondering  when,  or  if  ever,  a 
message  was  coming  to  him  from  the  friendly  Scotch  banker 
there. 

Mrs.  Ellison  was  now  up  in  town  making  preparations  for  her 
approaching  marriage ;  but  so  anxious  was  she  that  Louie  Drezel 
and  Vincent  should  get  thrown  together,  that  she  crushed  the 
natural  desire  of  a  woman's  heart  for  a  fashionable  wedding,  and 
proposed  that  the  ceremony  should  be  quite  a  quiet  little  affair, 
to  take  place  at  Brighton,  with  Miss  Drexel  as  her  chief  attend- 
ant and  Vincent  as  best  man.  And  of  course  there  were  many 
consultations ;  and  Mrs.  Ellison  and  her  young  friend  were  mnch 
together ;  and  they  seemed  to  think  it  pleasanter,  in  their  com- 
ings and  goings,  to  have  a  man's  escort,  so  that  the  parliament- 
ary duties  of  the  new  member  for  Mendover  were  very  consider- 
ably interfered  with. 

"Look  here,  aunt,"  said  he,  at  this  little  dinner,  "do  yon 
think  I  went  into  the  House  of  Commons  simply  to  get  you 
places  in  the  Ladies'  Gallery  and  entertain  you  in  the  Ladies' 
Dining-room  f 

"  I  consider  that  a  very  important  part  of  your  duties,"  said 
the  young  widow,  promptly.  "  And  I  tell  yon  this :  when  we 
come  back  from  the  Riviera,  for  the  London  season,  I  hope  to 
be  k"pt  Informed  of  everything  that  is  going  on — surely,  with  a 
husband  in  one  House  and  a  nephew  in  the  other  I" 

"  But  what  I  want  to  know  is,"  sud  Lord  Musselburgh  on 
this  same  occasion,  **  what  Vin  is  going  to  do  about  the  taxation 
of  ground  rents.  I  think  that  Is  about  the  hardest  luck  I  ever 
hewd  of.  He  is  a  young  man,  who  no  sooner  gets  into  Parlia- 
ment than  he  is  challenged  to  say  whether  he  will  support  the 
taxation  of  ground  rents ;  and  lo  and  behold  I  every  penny  of 
his  own  fortune  is  invested  in  ground  rents  1  Isn't  that  hard  t 
Other  things  don't  touch  him.  Welsh  disestablishment  will 
neither  put  a  penny  in  his  pocket  nor  take  one  out ;  while  be 
can  make  promises  by  the  dozen  about  the  abolition  of  the  tea 
duty,  extension  of  Factory  Acts,  triennial  Parlianenta,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it    Besides,  it  in'i  only  •  qneBtion  of  money.    He 


I  itkii  H'lJ." 


TvW 


III 

jht    And  you  were 

bsently ;  indeed,  at 
t  Toronto  than  this 
g  when,  or  if  ever,  a 
ndly  Scotch  banker 

preparations  for  her 
he  that  Louie  Drexel 
hat  ahe  crushed  the 
onable  wedding,  and 
a  a  quiet  little  affair, 

I  as  her  chief  attend- 
irse  there  were  many 
ing  friend  were  much 
isanter,  in  their  com- 

that  the  parliament- 
sr  were  very  consider- 

ttle  dinner,  "do  you 
UB  simply  to  get  you 
in  you  in  the  Ladies' 

of  your  duties,"  aaid 

II  yon  this :  when  we 
don  season,  I  hope  to 
ing  on — surely,  with  a 
tie  other!" 

Lord  Musselburgh  on 
»  do  about  the  taxation 
the  hardest  luck  I  ever 
ooner  gets  into  Parlia- 
ler  he  will  support  the 
jhold !  every  penny  of 
snts!    Isn't  that  hard! 
I  disestablishment  will 
bake  one  out;  while  he 
bho  abolition  of  the  tea 
al  ParliameDta,  and  all 
aeBtioB  of  money.    He 


BTAWD  FAST,  OBAIO-BOTBTOW I 


806 


knows  he  has  no  more  right  to  tax  ground  rents  than  to  pillage 
a  baker's  shop;  he  knows  he  oughtn't  to  give  the  namo  of 
patriot  to  people  who  merely  want  to  steal  what  doesn't  belong 
to  them ;  and  I  suppose  he  has  his  own  ideas  about  contractd 
guaranteed  by  law,  and  the  danger  of  introducing  the  legisla- 
tion of  plunder.  But  what  is  he  going  to  do  I  What  are  you 
going  to  do,  Marcus  Curtius }  Jump  in,  and  sacrifice  yourself, 
money  and  principles  and  all  f ' 

"  You  are  not  one  of  my  constituents,"  said  Vincent,  "  and  I 
decline  to  answer." 

Day  after  day  went  by,  and  week  after  week ;  but  no  tiding! 
came  of  the  two  fugitives.  In  such  moments  of  interval  as  he 
could  snatch  from  his  various  pursuits  (for  he  was  writing  fo' 
an  evening  paper  now,  and  that  occupied  a  good  deal  of  his 
time)  his  imagination  would  go  wandering  away  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  globe,  endeavoring  to  picture  them  here  or  thdre. 
He  had  remembered  Maisrie's  injunction ;  he  could  not  forget 
that ;  but  of  what  avail  was  it  now  f  Busy  as  he  was,  he  led  a 
solitary  kind  of  life ;  much  thinking,  especially  dnrinp'  the  long 
hours  of  the  night,  was  eating  into  his  spirili ;  in  vain  did  Mrs. 
Ellison  scheme  and  plan  all  kinds  of  littie  festivities  and  engage- 
ments in  order  to  get  him  interested  in  Louie  Drexel.  But  he 
was  grateful  to  the  girl,  in  a  sort  of  way ;  when  they  had  to  go 
two  and  two  (which  Mrs.  Ellison  endeavored  to  manage  when- 
ever there  was  a  chance)  she  did  all  the  talking ;  she  did  not 
seem  to  expect  attention;  she  was  light-hearted  and  amusing 
enough.  He  bought  her  music,  sent  her  flowers,  and  so  forth ; 
and  no  doubt  Mrs.  Ellison  thought  that  all  was  going  weH ;  but 
it  is  to  be  presumed  that  Miss  Drexel  herself  was  under  no  it-: 
apprehension,  for  sh«  was  an  observant  and  shrewd-witted  lass. 
Once,  indeed,  as  they  were  walking  up  Regent  Street,  she  ven- 
tured to  hint,  in  a  sisterly  sort  of  fashion,  that  he  might  be  a 
little  more  confidential  with  her ;  bnt  he  did  not  respond  to  Uiis 
invitation,  and  she  did  not  pursue  the  subject  further. 

Then  the  momentous  wedding-day  drew  near ;  and  it  was  with 
curious  feelings  that  Vincent  found  himself  on  the  way  to 
Brighton  again.  But  ho  was  not  alone.  The  two  Drexel  girls 
and  Lord  Musselbuii^h  were  with  him,  in  this  afternoon  Pull- 
man;  and  Miss  Louie  was  chattering  away  like  tiventy  magpies. 
Always,  too,  in  an  oddly  personal  way.    Yon-  -the  person  she 


"■    *Sm^ 


.^intaftiilf  I 


SM 


ITAWD   rm,  ORAIO-ROTSTON  I 


addressing — joa  were  reiponsible  for  everything  that  had 
happened  to  her,  or  might  happen  to  her,  in  this  coun«,r7 ;  you 
were  responsible  for  the  vagaries  of  the  weather,  for  the  condi- 
tion of  the  cab  that  brought  her,  for  the  delay  in  getting  ticketB. 

"  Why,"  she  said  to  Vincent,  "  you  know  perfectly  well  that 
all  that  yonr  English  poets  have  written  about  your  English 
spring  is  a  pure  imposture.  Who  would  go  a-Maying  when  you 
can't  be  sure  of  the  weather  for  ten  minates  at  a  time  t  *  Hail, 
smiling  mom  I' — just  yon  venture  to  say  that,  on  the  finest  day 
you  ever  saw  in  an  English  spring ;  the  chances  are  your  prayer 
will  be  answered,  and  the  chances  are  that  the  mom  does  begin 
to  hail,  like  the  very  mischief.  You  know  perfectly  well  that 
Herriek  is  a  fraud.  There  never  were  such  people  as  Corydou 
and  Phyllis — with  ribbons  at  their  knees  and  in  their  caps.  The 
fanuHBervants  of  Herrick's  time  were  no  better  off  than  the  farm- 
servants  of  this  present  time — stupid,  ignorant  louts,  not  think- 
ing of  poetry  at  all,  but  living  the  most  dull  and  miserable  of 
lives,  with  an  occasional  gussle.  But  in  this  country,  yon  be- 
lieve anything  that  is  told  yon.  One  of  your  great  men  says 
that  machine-made  things  are  bad ;  and  so  yon  go  and  print 
yonr  books  on  hand-made  paper — and  worry  yourselves  to  death 
before  yon  can  get  the  edges  cut  I  call  the  man  yiuo  multi- 
plies either  useful  or  pretty  things  by  machinery  a  true  philan- 
thropist ;  he  is  working  for  the  mass  of  the  people ;  and  it's 
abont  time  they  were  being  considered.     In  former  days — " 

"Don't  yon  want  to  hire  a  hall,  Louie?"  said  her  sister 
Anna. 

"  Oh,  I've  no  patience  with  sham  talk  of  that  kind  I"  con- 
tinued Miss  Drexel,  not  heeding  the  interruption.  "As  I  say, 
in  former  days  no  one  was  supposed  to  have  anything  fine  or 
beautiful  in  their  house,  except  princes  and  nobles.  The  gold- 
smiths and  the  lapidaries  and  the  portrait-painters — and  the 
poor  wretches  who  made  Venetian  lace — they  all  worked  for  the 
princes  and  nobles ;  and  the  common  people  were  not  supposed 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  art  or  ornament ;  they  could  herd 
like  pigs.  Well,  Fm  for  machinery.  I'm  for  chromo-lithography, 
when  it  can  give  the  laborer  a  very  fair  imitation  of  a  Landseer 
or  a  Blillais  to  hang  up  in  his  cottage ;  I'm  for  the  sewing- 
machine  that  can  give  the  £160-»-year  people  a  very  good  snb- 
Btitute  for  Syrian  embroidery  to  put  in  their  drawing-room. 


BTAim  VAMT,  OIUtO-BOTITOa  I 


•n 


»rything  that  had 
Lhis  country ;  you 
ler,  for  the  condi- 
in  getting  tickets. 
Mjrfcctly  well  that 
tout  your  English 
■Maying  when  you 
kt  a  timet    *Hail, 
,  on  the  finest  day 
;es  are  your  prayer 
e  mom  does  begin 
perfectly  well  that 
people  as  Ck>rydon 
in  their  caps.    The 
ir  off  than  the  f arm- 
nt  louts,  not  think- 
U  and  miserable  of 
is  country,  you  be- 
our  great  men  says 
)  you  go  and  print 

yourselves  to  death 
ihe  man  wuo  multi- 
inery  a  true  phibn- 
ho  people ;  and  it's 

former  days — ^" 
ef  said  her  sister 

of  that  kind  I"  con- 
iption.  "  As  I  say, 
ive  anything  fine  or 

nobles.  The  gold- 
it-painters — and  the 
(y  all  worked  for  the 
e  were  not  supposed 
jnt ;  they  could  herd 
■  chromo-lithography, 
itation  of  a  Landseer 
I'm  for  the  sewing- 
>ple  a  very  good  sub- 

their  drawingHPOom. 


You've  been  so  long  naed  to  princes  and  nobles  having  every* 
thing  and  the  poor  people  nothing — " 

"  Bat  we're  learning  the  error  of  our  ways,"  said  Vincent,  in« 
tcrposing.     "  My  father  is  a  Socialist" 

"  A  Socialist,"  observed  Lord  Musselburgh,  "  who  broke  th« 
moulds  of  a  dessertHiervice  lest  anybody  else  should  have  platei 
of  the  same  pattern  1" 

"  Who  has  been  telling  tales  out  of  school  t"  Vincent  asked ; 
but  the  discussion  had  to  end  hero,  for  they  were  now  slowing 
into  the  statio 

Nor  did  Mrs.  Ellison's  plans  for  throwing  those  two  young 
people  continuously  and  obviously  together  work  any  better  in 
Brighton ;  for  Vincent  had  no  sooner  got  down  than  he  went 
away  by  himself,  seeking  out  the  haunts  he  had  known  when 
Maisrie  and  her  grandfather  had  been  there.  Wretchedness, 
loneliness,  was  destroying  the  nerve  of  this  young  man.  Ha 
had  bhiek  moods  of  despair ;  and  not  only  of  despair  Jbut  of  re* 
morse ;  he  tortcred  himself  with  vain  regrets,  as  one  does  when 
thinking  of  the  dead.  If  only  he  could  have  all  those  oppor-* 
tunities  over  again,  he  would  not  misunderstand  or  mistrast  I  11 
only  he  could  have  them  both  here ! — the  resolute,  bimveijiearted 
old  man  who  disregarded  all  mean  and  petty  troubles  while  he 
could  march  along,  with  head  erect,  repeating  to  himself  a  verse 
of  the  Psalms  of  David,  or  perhaps  in  his  careless  gayety  sing- 
ing  a  farewell  to  Bonny '  iary  and  the  pier  o'  Leith.  And  Mais- 
rie } — ^but  Maisrie  had  gone  away,  prond  and  wounded  and  in- 
dignant  She  had  found  him  >  .nworthy  of  the  love  she  had  of- 
fered him.  He  had  not  risen  to  her  height.  She  would  seek 
some  other,  no  doubt,  better  fitted  to  win  her  maiden  trust  He 
thought  of  •  Urania  '— 

"  Tet  show  h«r  onoe,  J«  heavenly  powers. 
One  of  Mnw  worthier  n«e '>luui  onn  I . 
One  for  whose  sake  she  once  mi^t  prove 
How  deeply  she  who  scoma  can  love." 

And  that  other  one,  that  worthier  one,  she  wonld  welcome— 

"And  she  to  htia  wiU  leadi  her  hand, 
Ind  gaifaig  in>hia  eyes  will  atand, 
And  Imew  her  friend,  and  weep  for  glee. 
And  cry:  •Z0M9,  long  Tm  boletd/or  Mm.'" 

Then  again  his  mood  '^ould  change.    If  Maisrie  were  only  here 


,, 


tftS 


ITAMD  VAW,  OBAIfl'MITnoai 


^ 


't 


K: 


I 


— ii  bnt  for  a  Mcond  or  lo  he  could  look  into  h«r  elsar,  ptasire, 
true  eyes,  surely  he  could  convince  her  of  one  thing — tb«t  even 
when  his  fatuer  had  offered  him  chapter  and  verse  to  prove  that 
she  was  nothing  but  the  accomplice  of  a  common  ^^iadlor,  his 
faith  in  her  had  never  wavered,  never  for  an  instant  And  would 
she  not  forgive  his  blindness  in  not  understanding  so  complex  a 
character  as  that  of  her  grandfather!  Ho  had  not  told  her  of 
his  half-suspioions ;  nay,  he  had  treated  thoso  charges  with  an 
open  contempt  And  if  her  quick  eyes  had  perceived  tliat  be- 
hind  those  professions  there  iingere(*  some  unconfossed  doubt, 
would  she  not  be  generous  and  willing  to  pardon  t  It  was  in 
her  nature  to  be  generous.  And  he  had  borne  some  things  for 
her  sake  that  ho  had  never  revealed  to  any  mortal. 

He  ought  to  have  been  attending  to  his  groomsman's  duties, 
and  acting  as  escort  to  the  young  ladies  who  had  gone  down ; 
bat  instead  of  that  he  paid  a  visit  to  German  Place,  to  look  at 
the  house  in  which  the  two  Bethunos  had  lodged ;  and  he  slowly 
passed  up  and  down  the  Kemp-Town  breakwater,  striving  to 
picture  to  himself  the  look  In  Maisrie's  eyes  when  her  soul  made 
confession ;  and  he  went  to  the  end  of  the  Chain  Pier,  to  recall 
the  tempestnons  morning  on  which  Maisrie,  with  her  wet  hair 
blown  about  by  the  winds,  and  her  lips  salt  with  the  sea-spray, 
had  asked  him' to  kiss  hei,  ss  a  last  farewell.  And  his  promise  f 
— "  Promise  mo,  Vincent,  that  you  will  never  doubt  that  you  are 
my  dearest  in  all  the  world ;  promise  mo  that  you  will  say  to 
yourself  always  and  always, '  Where7er  Maisrie  is  at  this  mo- 
ment, she  loves  me — she  is  thinking  of  me.' "  He  had  made 
light  of  her  wild  words ;  he  conld  not  believe  in  any  farewell ; 
and  now — now  all  the  wide,  unknown  world  lay  between  him 
and  her,  and  there  was  nothing  for  him  but  the  memory  of  her 
broken  accents,  her  sobs,  her  distracted,  appealing  eyes. 

Mrs.  Ellison  affected  not  to  notice  his  remissness ;  nay,  she 
went  on  the  other  tack. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  a  pity,  Yin,"  she  said  on  one  occasion 
when  she  found  him  alone — and  there  was  a  demure  little  smile 
on  her  very  pretty  and  expressive  face — "  don't  you  think  it  is 
•  pity  the  two  marriages  couldn't  be  or  the  same  day!" 

*'  What  two  marriages  f  he  demanded,  with  a  stare. 

*<  Oh,  yes,  we^  are  so  discreet  I"  she  said,  mockingly.  "  We 
woaldn't  mention  anjrthing  for  worlds.    But  other  people  aren't 


MAITD  WA»t,  miAIO-IIOTITOiri 


850 


h«r  cletf,  ptnrive, 
B  thing — th»t  even 
vene  to  prove  that 
imon  Kivindlor,  hia 
■tant     And  would 
iding  ao  complex  a 
lad  not  told  her  of 
80  charges  with  an 
perceived  that  be- 
unconfoiaed  doubt, 
pardon  I    It  waa  in 
■no  aomo  thlnga  for 
nortal. 

px>oni8man*a  dotlea, 
lio  had  gone  down ; 
an  Place,  to  look  at 
Iged ;  and  he  slowly 
akwater,  striving  to 
when  her  soul  made 
Chain  Pier,  to  recall 
B,  with  her  wet  hair 
t  with  the  sea^pray, 
.    And  his  promise  I 
3r  doubt  that  you  are 
that  yon  will  say  to 
aisrie  is  at  this  mo- 
ae.' "     He  had  made 
lieve  in  any  farewell ; 
>rld  lay  between  him 
It  the  memory  of  her 
ppealing  eyes, 
remissness ;  nay,  she 

»  said  on  one  occasion 
I  a  demure  little  amile 
•  don't  you  think  it  is 
lie  same  day  r 
with  a  stare, 
dd,  mockingly.  "We 
But  other  people  aren'l 


qatt«  blind,  young  gentleman.  And  I  do  think  it  would  have 
been  so  nire  if  the  four  of  us  could  have  gone  off  on  this  trip 
together;  Louie  desplaea  conventions — she  wouldn't  mind. 
Many'a  the  time  I've  thought  of  it ;  four  make  such  a  nice  num> 
her  for  driving  along  the  Riviera ;  and  four  who  all  know  each 
other  so  well  would  be  quite  delightful.  If  it  came  to  that,  I 
dare  aay  it  could  be  arranged  yet ;  I'm  sure  I  ^liould  be  willing 
to  have  our  marriage  postponed  for  a  month,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  I  could  persuade  Hubert  to  agree ;  then  the  two  weddingt 
on  the  same  day  would  be  jolly — " 

**  What  are  yon  talking  about,  aunt  I"  he  eiolaimod. 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  said,  with  a  wise  and  amiable  discretion,  "  I 
don't  want  to  hurry  on  anything,  or  even  to  interfere.  But  of 
course  wo  all  expect  that  the  attentions  you  have  been  paying 
to  Looie  Drexel  will  lead  to  something — and  it  would  have  been 
very  nice  if  the  two  weddings  could  have  been  together." 

He  waa  staring  at  her. 

•'  Mind  yon,"  she  wont  on,  "  I  wish  yon  distinctly  to  under- 
stand that  Louie  has  not  spoken  a  single  word  to  me  on  the 
subject—" 

"  Well,  I  should  hope  not  I"  said  Vincent,  with  quick  indig>> 
nation. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  angry !  Do  you  think  a  giri  doesn't  interpret 
things  r'  continued  Mrs.  Ellison.  "Sho  has  hor  own  piido,  of 
course ;  she  wouldn't  speak  until  she  is  spoken  to.  But  /  can 
speak ;  and  surely  you  know  that  it  is  only  your  interests  I  have 
at  heart.  And  that  is  why  we  have  been  so  glad  to  see  this 
affair  coming  along — " 

«'  Who  have  been  glad  to  see  itt"  ho  asked  again. 

"Well,  Hubert,  for  one.  And  I  should  think  your  father. 
0.  .ourse  they  must  see  how  admirable  a  wife  she  would  make 
you,  now  you  are  really  embarked  in  public  life.  Clever,  bright, 
amusing ;  of  a  good  family ;  with  a  comfortable  dowry,  no  doubt 
— but  that  would  be  of  little  consequence,  so  long  as  your  father 
waa  pleased  with  the  match ;  you  will  have  plenty.  And  this  is 
my  offer,  a  very  handsome  one,  I  consider  it :  even  now,  at  the 
last  moment,  I  will  try  to  get  Hubert  to  postpone  our  marriage, 
if  yon  and  Louie  will  have  your  wedding  on  the  same  day 
witii  us.  I  have  thought  of  it  again  and  again ;  but  somehow 
I  didn't  like  to  speak.     I  was  waiting  for  you  to  tell  me  that 


li 


*#^*j-M,>.r'i 


K&jSi^.-'   '"-'" 


leo 


MAUD   FAST,  ORAlO-aOTROVl 


,' 


I 


th«re   WM  «  definitfl  uodtntanding  betwMO  yoa  Mid  Look 

"  Well,  thore  U  not,"  h«i  aaid,  cAlmly.  "  Nor  b  Umn  •▼« 
lik«ly  to  b«." 

"Ob,  come,  come,"  ebfl  Mud,  iuidiooely,  "don't  miike  mj 
nub  roHotvo,  simply  bocnuee  I  may  have  interfered  «  little  too 
■oon.  Coneidor  tbe  oiroumttancet.  Did  you  ever  hoar  of  any 
young  man  getting  into  Parliament  with  fairer  proapeota  tbaa 
you  t  Your  friendahip  witb  Grandiaon  it  of  itaelf  enough  to  at- 
tract attention  to  you.  You  have  hardly  opened  your  mouth  in 
the  House  yet ;  all  the  aame  I  can  see  a  disposition  on  the  part 
of  the  newspapers  to  pet  you — " 

"  What  has  thiit  got  to  do  with  Louie  Drexel  f'  Vincent  asked, 
blnntly.  .-.-i  iwj  .  ■  Xj^A^  t- 

"  Everything,**  WM  (he  prompt  reply.  *'  Ton  must  have  social 
petition.  You  must  begin  and  entertain — and  make  your  own 
circle  of  friends  and  allies.  Then  I  shall  want  yon  to  oome  to 
Musselburgh  House — you  and  your  wife— so  that  my  din'*er 
parties  sha'n't  be  smothered  up  with  elderly  people  and  poUtioal 
bores.  Yon  can't  begin  too  early  to  form  your  own  set ;  not 
only  that,  but  with  a  proper  establishment  and  a  wife  at  the 
head  of  it,  you  can  pay  compliments  to  all  kinds  of  people,  eren 
among  those  who  are  not  of  yoar  own  set  Why  shouldn't 
you  aak  Mr.  Ogden  to  dinner,  for  example  f— there's  many  • 
good  turn  ho  might  do  you  in  time  to  come.  Wait  till  yon  see 
how  I  mean  to  manage  at  Musselburgh  House— if  only  Hubert 
would  be  a  little  more  serious,  and  profem  political  beliefs,  even 
if  ho  hasn't  any.  For  I  want  you  to  succeed,  Vincent,  You 
are  my  boy.  And  yon  don't  know  how  a  woman  who  can't 
herself  do  anything  distinguished  is  proud  to  look  on  and  ad- 
mire one  of  her  own  family  distinguishing,  himself,  and  would 
like  to  have  all  the  world  admiring  him,  too.  I  tell  yon  you 
are  losing  time ;  you  are  losing  your  opportunities.  What  is 
the  use — what  on  earth  can  be  the  use,"  continued  this  sealous 
•nd  surely  disinterested  eonnsellor,  "  of  your  writing  for  newa- 
pm>ers  I  If  the  articles  were  signed,  then  I  could  understand 
their  doing  you  some  good ;  or  if  you  were  the  editor  of  an  im* 
portant  journal,  that  would  give  you  a  position.  But  here  yon 
•re  slaving  away — for  what!  Is  it  the  money  they  give  yont 
It  would  b«  odd  if  the  son  of  Harland  Harris  had  to  make  that 


M 


TOiri 

ween  yoo  and  Louie 

•'Nor  ii  Umm  oTor 

ily,  "don't  rnnke  my 

interfered  »  little  too 

i  yoo  erer  hear  of  rajr 

I  fKirer  protpeot*  tbM 
of  it«elf  enough  to  at- 
openod  your  mouth  in 

disposition  on  the  part 

)roxel  r*  Vincent  aslced, 

«•  Yon  must  have  social 
I— and  malie  your  own 

II  want  you  to  come  to 
[p.  so  that  my  dinger 
irly  people  and  political 
►rm  your  own  set ;  not 
lent  and  a  wife  at  the 
Jl  kinds  of  people,  CTen 
t  set  Why  shouldn't 
mplot — there's  many  a 
)me.  Wait  till  you  see 
House— if  only  Hubert 
8«  political  beliefs,  even 
niccoed,  Vincent,  You 
ow  a  woman  who  can't 
oud  to  look  on  and  ad- 
iing.  himself,  and  would 
D,  too.  I  tell  you  you 
opportunities.  What  w 
'*  continued  this  zealous 

your  writing  for  new»- 
hen  I  could  understand 
rere  the  editor  of  an  im- 
position. But  here  yon 
I  money  they  give  you! 
Elarris  had  to  make  that 


■tAiiB  vas*.  oaata-aoftroMi 


••1 


■  consideration.     What  othorwiso,  then  f    Do  yon  think  half  a 
doien  people  know  that  you  write  in  the — — ." 

"My  dear  aunt,"  he  answe<-ed  hor,  "all  that  you  say  is  rtry 
wise  and  very  kind;  but  you  must  not  bother  about  me  when 
your  own  affairs  are  so  much  more  important  If  I  have  been 
too  attentive  *xt  Miss  Drexol — I'm  sure  I  waao't  aware  of  it,  but 
I  may  have  booD*-I  will  alter  that — " 

•«  Ob,  Vin,  don't  bo  mean  1"  Mrs.  Ellison  cried.  "  Don't  do 
anything  shabby.  You  won't  go  and  quarrel  with  the  girl 
simply  because  I  ventured  to  hope  something  from  your  manner 
towards  her — you  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing  as  that—" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  he,  in  a  half-amusod  way.  "Miai 
Drexel  and  I  are  excellent  friends — " 

"  And  you  will  continue  to  bo  so  1"  saitl  Mrs.  Ellison,  im> 
ploringly.  "  Now,  Vincent,  promise  me  I  You  know  there  are 
crises  in  woman's  life  when  she  expects  a  little  consideration — 
when  she  expects  to  bo  petted — and  buvo  things  a  little  hor  own 
way ;  well,  promise  me  now  you  will  be  very  kind  to  Louie— 
Icinder  than  ever — why,  what  an  omen  at  a  wedding  it  would  b« 
if  my  chief  attendant  e  d  the  groomsman  were  to  fall  oui — " 

"  Oh,  we  sha'n't  fall  out,  aunt,  be  sure  of  that,"  he  said,  good- 
oatnredly. 

"  Ah,  but  I  want  more,"  she  persisted.  "  I  shall  consider  my- 
self  a  horrid  mischief-maker  if  I  don't  see  that  yon  are  more  at- 
tentive and  kind  to  Lonio  Drcxol  than  over.  It's  your  duty. 
It's  your  place  as  groomsmru.  You'll  have  to  propose  their 
health  at  the  wedding-breakfast;  and  of  course  you'll  say  some- 
thing nice  about  American  girls — could  you  say  anything  too 
nice,  I  wonder  !-^and  youMl  have  to  say  it  with  an  air  of  con- 
viction. For  they'll  expect  you  to  speak  well,  of  course ;  you,  a 
young  member  of  Parliament ;  and  where  could  you  And  a  more 
welcome  toast,  at  a  wedding-breakfast,  than  the  toast  of  the  un- 
married young  ladies  t  Yea,  yes  ;  you'll  have  plenty  of  oppor- 
tunity of  lecturing  a  sleepy  House  of  Commons  about  Lcisehold 
Enfranchisement  and  things  of  that  kind;  but  this  is  quite 
another  sort  of  chance ;  and  I'm  looking  forward  to  my  nephew 
distinguishing  himself — as  he  ought  to  do,  when  he  will  have 
liouie  and  Anna  Drexel  listening."  And  here  this  astute  and 
insidipns  adviser  ceased,  for  her  future  husband  came  into  the 
room,  to  pay  his  last  aftemooo  call 
Q 


^ 


.M9 


■TiJm  tAMr,  OBAIO-IOtflTOVI 


Whether  Vincent  spoke  well  or  ill  on  that  Mupieions  occasion 
does  not  concern  us  here ;  it  only  needs  to  be  said  that  the  cere- 
mony, and  the  qniet  littie  festivities  following,  all  passed  off 
very  satisfactorily:  >iad  that  bride  and  bridegrooic  (Uie  former 
being  no  novice)  Ujove  away  radiant  and  happy,  amid  the  nsnal 
symbolic  showers.  It  was  understood  they  were  to  break  their 
journey  southward  at  Paris  for  a  few  days ;  and  Vincent — who 
had  meanwhile  dipped  along  to  his  hotel  to  change  his  attire — 
went  up  to  the  railway  station  to  se<)  them  ofE.  He  was  sur- 
prised to  find  both  the  Dreiel  girls  there. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Vin,"  said  the  charming,  tall,  pretty-eyed, 
and  not  inexperienced  bride,  '*  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor. 
If  a  woman  isn't  to  be  humored  and  petted  on  her  wedding- 
day — when,  then  f  Well,  Louie  and  Anna  don't  return  to  town 
till  to-morrow  morning ;  and  what  are  they  to  do  in  that  empty 
house  with  old  Mrs.  Sniythe  t  I  want  you  to  take  them  in  hand 
for  the  afternoon — to  please  me.  Leave  that  wretched  House 
of  Commons  tor  one  more  evening ;  in  any  case,  you  Couldn't 
go  up  now  before  the  five  o'clock  express." 

And  then  she  turned  to  the  two  young  ladies.  "  Louie,  Vin- 
cent has  promised  to  look  after  yon  two  girls;  and  he'll  see 
yon  safely  into  your  train  to-morrow  morning.  So  yon  must 
do  your  best  to  entertain  him  in  the  meanwhile ;  the  afternoon 
will  be  the  dullest — ^you  must  find  something  to  amuse  your- 
selves with — " 

Miss  Drezel  seemed  a  little  self-conscious,  and  also  inclined 
-to  laugh. 

"  If  he  will  trust  himself  entirely  to  us,"  said  she,  with  cov- 
«rtiy  merry  eyes  fixed  on  the  bride,  "  Anna  and  I  will  do  our 
best  But  he  must  put  himself  entirely  in  our  charge.  He 
must  be  ruled  and  governed.    He  must  do  everything  we  ask — ** 

"Training  him  for  a  husband's  duties,"  said  Lord  Mussel- 
butgh,  without  any  evil  intention  whater«>r ;  for,  indeed,  he  was 
more  anxious  about  getting  a  supply  of  foot-waimers  into  the 
carriage  that  had  been  reserved  for  him. 

Then  the  kissing  had  to  be  gene  through;  there  were  flnil 
farewells  and  good  wishes;  away  went  the  train;  tiiere  was  a 
fluttering  of  handkerchiefs ;  and  here  was  Vincent  Harris,  a 
captive  in  the  hands  of  those  two  young  American  damsels— 
who,  at  first,  did  not  seem  to  know  what  to  do  «.lth  him. 


ispieionB  occasion 
said  that  the  cere- 
Dg,  all  passed  off 
TooD!  (the  f  onner 
>j,  amid  the  usual 
"ere  to  break  their 
ind  Vincent — who 
hange  his  attire — 
off.     He  was  sar- 

f,  tall,  pretty-«yed, 
»  do  me  a  favor. 
I  on  her  wedding- 
m't  return  to  town 
>  do  in  that  emp^ 
take  them  in  hand 
It  wretched  Honse 
casci  yon  couldn't 

lies.  "  Louie,  Vin- 
;irls;  and  he'll  see 
ing.  So  you  must 
ttile ;  the  afternoon 
Dg  to  amuse  yonr- 

I,  and  also  inclined 

said  she,  with  coY- 

and  I  will  do  our 

our  charge.    He 

erything  we  aak~" 
said  I^rd  Mussel* 
for,  indeed,  he  was 

t>t-waimer8  into  tbe 

o.'i. 

there  were  itil 
train;  tiiere  was  a 
Vincent  Harris,  a 
^eriean  damsels- 
do  y.ltbhiin. 


But  Tery  soon  their  shyness  wore  off;  and  it  must  be  freely 
conceded  that  they  treated  him  well.  To  begin  with,  they  took 
him  down  into  the  town,  and  led  him  to  a  little  table  at  a  con- 
fectioner's, and  ordered  two  ices  for  themselves  and  for  him  a 
glass  of  sherry  and  a  biscuit  When  that  fluid  was  placed  be- 
fore him,  he  made  no  remark ;  bis  face  was  perfectly  grave. 

"  What's  the  matter  now !"  Louie  Drezel  asked,  looking  at 
him. 

**  I  said  nothing,"  he  answered. 

**  What  are  you  thinking,  then  f 

"Nothing — nothing." 

<*  But  I  insist  on  Imowing." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  said.  '*  But  it  isn't  my  fault  I  prom- 
ised to  obey.  If  you  ask  me  to  drink  a  glass  of  confectioner's 
sherry  I  will  do  so— though  it  seems  a  pity  to  die  so  young." 

"  What  would  you  rather  hare,  then — ^tea  or  an  ice  f" 

She  got  an  ice  for  him ;  and  duly  paid  for  the  threes-much 
to  his  consternation,  but  he  had  undertaken  to  be  quite  submis* 
sire.  Then  they  took  him  for  a  walk  and  showed  him  the 
beauties  of  the  place,  making  believe  to  recognize  the  ^hief 
features  and  public  buildings  of  New  York.  Then  they  carried 
him  with  them  to  Mrs.  Ellison's  house,  and  ascended  into  the 
drawing-room  there,  chatting,  laughing,  nonsense-making,  in  a 
very  frank  and  engaging  manner.  Finally,  towards  six  o'clock, 
Miss  Drexsl  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the  carriage. 

*'  Oh,  I  say,  don't  do  that,"  Vincent  interposed,  grown  serious 
for  a  moment.  "People  don't  like  tricks  being  played  with 
their  horses.    Ton  may  do  anything  else  in  a  house  but  that" 

"  And,  pray,  who  aaked  you  to  interfc  e,"  she  retorted,  in  a 
very  imperious  manner ;  so  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  acqui- 
escence and  resignation. 

And  very  soon — in  a  few  minutes,  indeed — ^the  carriage  was 
beneath  the  windows ;  coachman  on  the  box-,  footman  at  the 
door,  maid-servant  descending  the  steps  with  rugs,  i^  in  oarder. 
It  did  not  occur  to  Vincent  to  ssk  how  those  horses  came  to  be 
harnessed  in  so  miraculously  brief  a  space  of  time ;  he  accepted 
anything  that  might  befall;  he  was  as  clay  in  the  hands  of  tha 
potter.  And  really  the  two  giris  did  their  best  to  make  things 
lively— as  they  drove  away  he  knew  not,  and  Cared  not,  whither. 
The  younger  Mster  was  rather  more  mbdued,  perhaps;  but  the 


r 


SM 


BTAKD   rABT,  OmAIO-BOTITOVI 


elder  fairly  went  daft,  as  the  saying  is ;  and  her  gayety  was 
catching.  Not  bnt  that  she  coald  be  dexteroos  in  the  midst  of 
her  madnessii  For  example,  she  was  making  merry  ^ver  the 
general  inaptitude  of  Englishmen  for  speech-making ;  and  was 
describing  scenes  she  had  herself  witnessed  in  both  Houses  of 
Parliament,  when  she  suddenly  checked  herself. 

"  At  all  events,"  she  said,  "  I  will  say  this  for  your  House  of 
Commons,  that  there  are  a  number  of  very  good-looking  men  in 
it  No  one  can  deny  that  But  the  House  of  Lords — ^whewl 
Yon  know  my  contention  is  that  my  pedig^ree  is  just  as  long  as 
that  of  any  of  your  lords ;  but  I've  got  to  admit  that  some  of 
them  more  nearly  resemble  their  ancestors — I  mean  their  qnad- 
mmanous  ancestors — " 

'*  Lonie  I"  said  the  sister,  reprovingly. 

And  she  was  going  on  to  say  some  very  nice  things  about  the 
House  of  Commons  (as  contrasted  with  the  Upper  Chamber), 
when  Vincent  happened  to  look  out  into  the  now  gathering 
dusk. 

"Why,"  id  he,  "we're  at  Rottingdean;  and  we're  at  the 
foot  of  an  awfully  steep  hill ;  I  must  get  out  and  walk  up." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  said  MLbs  Drezel,  impatiently.  "  The  horses  have 
done  nothing  all  day  bnt  hang  about  the  church  door.  Yon 
English  are  so  absurdly  careful  of  your  horses ;  more  carefol  of 
them  than  of  yourselves — as  I've  noticed  myself  at  country 
houses  in  wet  weather.  I  wonder,  when  I  get  back  home,  if 
the  people  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  them  that  I've  actually 
seen  horses  in  England  with  leather  shoes  over  their  feet  to 
keep  the  poor  things  warm  and  comfortable.  Yes,  in  this  very 
town  of  Brighton — ^" 

But  here  Miss  Louie  had  the  laugh  turned  against  her,  when 
he  had  gravely  to  inform  her  that  horses  in  England  wore  over- 
shoes of  leather,  not  to  keep  their  feet  warm,  bnt  to  prevent 
their  cutting  the  turf  when  hanling  a  lawn-roUer. 

"  But  where  an  we  going  f*  said  he  again. 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  she  answered,  pertly. 

*<^A11  right — all  right,"  he  said,  ai^d  he  proceeded  to  ensconce 
himself  still  more  snugly  in  the  back  seat  "  Well,  now,  since 
you've  told  us  of  all  the  absurd  and  ludicrous  things  yoo'v* 
seen  in  England,  won't  yon  tell  us  of  some  of  the  things  yon 
have  admired  t    We  can't  be  insane  on  every  point,  snrely." 


her  gsyetjr  was 
u  in  the  midst  of 
^  merry  over  the 
making ;  and  was 
n  both  Houses  of 
If. 

for  your  House  of 

lod-looking  men  in 

of  Lords — ^whew  I 

is  just  as  long  as 
dmit  that  some  of 
I  mean  their  qoad- 


ce  things  abont  the 
)  Upper  Chamber), 
the  now  gathering 

;  and  we're  at  the 
;  and  walk  up." 
'.  "The  horses  have 
church  door.  Ton 
es ;  more  careful  of 
myself  at  country 
I  get  back  home,  if 
m  that  IVe  actually 
B  over  their  feet  to 
i.    Yes,  in  this  very 

)d  against  her,  when 
England  wore  over- 
arm, but  to  prevent 
roller. 


roceeded  to  enMonee 
"  Well,  now,  wnco 
icrons  things  yoa*v« 
M  of  the  things  yon 
iry  point,  surely." 


STAm>  rAiT,  OBAIO-tOTnOVI 


8«» 


«!  know  what  you  think  X  am,"  she  said  of  a  midden.  "A 
comparison-monger." 

'*^Tou  were  bom  in  America,"  he  observed. 

"And  you  despise  people  who  haven't  the  self-su£Bciency, 
the  stolid  satisfaction,  of  the  English." 

"  We  don't  like  people  who  are  too  eager  to  assert  themselves 
— who  are  always  beating  drums  and  tom-toms  —  quiet  folk 
would  rather  turn  aside,  and  give  them  the  highway." 

"  But  all  the  same,  you  know,"  Miss  Drexel  proceeded, "  some 
of  your  countrymen  have  been  vary  complimentary  when  they 
were  over  with  us ;  of  coarse  you've  heard  of  the  one  who  said 
that  the  biggest  things  he  had  seen  in  America  were  the  eyes 
of  the  women  f 

"What  else  could  he  say  ( — an  Englishman  prides  himself  on 
speaking  the  truth,"  he  made  answer,  very  properly. 

By  this  time,  however,  he  was  beginning  seriously  to  ask 
himself  whither  those  two  young  minxes  meant  to  take  him — a 
runaway  expedition  carried  out  with  somebody  else's  horses! 
At  all  events  they  were  going  to  have  a  fine  night  for  it  For 
by  now  it  ought  to  have  been  quite  dark ;  but  it  was  not  dark ; 
the  long-rolling  downs,  the  wide  strip  of  turf  along  the  top  of 
the  clifb,  and  the  far  plain  of  the  sea  were  all  spectrally  visible 
in  a  sort  of  gray  uncertainty,  and  he  judged  that  the  moon  was 
rising,  or  had  risen,  in  the  east  What  did  Charles  and  Thomas, 
■eat^  on  the  box,  think  of  this  pretty  escapade  f  In  any  case, 
his  own  part  and  lot  in  the  matter  had  already  been  decided ; 
unquestioning  obedience  was  what  had  been  demanded  of  him. 
It  could  not  be  that  Gretna  Oreen  was  the  objective  point  t — 
this  was  hardly  the  way. 

At  last  they  descended  from  those  gray  moonlit  solitudes, 
and  got  down  into  a  dusky  valley,  where  there  were  scattered 
yellow  lights — Ump  lights  and  lights  of  windows.  "Hits  is 
Newhaven,"  he  thought  to  himself;  but  he  did  not  $^  any- 
thing; for  Miss  Drexel  was  telling  of  a  wild  midniglti  fiiolio 
she  and  some  of  her  friends  had  had  on  Lake  Champlain.  Pt'es- 
•ntly  the  footfalls  of  the  horses  sounded  hollow ;  they  were  go- 
ing over  a  wooden  bridge.  Then  they  proceeded  cautiously  for 
a  space,  .and  there  was  a  jerk  or  two ;  they  were  crossing  a  rail- 
way line.  And  now  Vincent  seemed  to  understand  what  those 
mad  young  wretches  were  after.    They  were  going  down  to  the 


II 

I  j 


emm 


see 


STAMD   VAST.  OKAUHEOTSTOa  I 


Newhafen  Fier  Hotel  To  dine  there!  Very  irell;  btit  lie 
would  insiBt  on  being  host  It  was  noyel  and  odd — and  in  a 
certain  way  fascinating — for  him  to  sit  in  a  restaurant  und  find 
himself  entertained  by  two  yonng  ladies — find  them  pressing  an- 
other biscuit  on  him,  and  then  paying  the  bill ;  but,  of  coarse,  the 
serioiu  business  of  dinner  demanded  the  intervention  of  a  man. 

What  followed  speedily  drove  these  considerations  out  of  his 
head.  The  enterprising  young  damsels,  having  told  the  coach- 
man when  to  return  with  the  carriage,  conducted  their  gnest  to 
the  hotel,  and  asked  for  the  eaflee-room.  A  waiter  opened  the 
door  for  them.  The  next  thing  that  Vincent  saw  was  that, 
right  up  at  the  end  of  the  long  room.  Lord  Mosselborgh  and 
his  bride  were  seated  at  a  side-table,  and  that  they  were  regard- 
ing the  new-comers — especially  himself — with  some  little  amuse- 
ment. They  themselves  were  in  no  wise  disconcerted,  as  they 
onght  to  have  been. 

"Come  along!"  the  bridegroom  said,  rather  impatiently. 
'*  Yoo're  nearly  half  an  hoar  late,  and  we're  famishing.  Here, 
waiter,  dinner  at  once,  please  I  Yin,  my  boy,  yoa  sit  next  Miss 
Drexel— that's  all  right!" 

At  this  side-table  covers  were  already  laid  for  five.  As  Yin- 
cent  took  his  place,  he  said, 

<'  Well,  this  is  better  than  being  had  op  before  a  magistrate 
for  stealing  a  carriage  and  a  pair  of  horses !" 

"Sure  they  didn't  let  on  I"  the  bride  demanded,  with  » 
glance  at  the  two  girls. 

'*  Not  a  word !"  he  protested.  "  I  had  not  the  remotest  idea 
where  or  what  we  were  bound  for.  Looked  more  like  Gretna 
Green  thru  anything  else." 

<*  The  nearest  way  to  Gretna  Green,"  said  she,  regarding  Yin- 
cent  with  significant  eyes,  "  is  through  Paris — to  the  British 
embassy." 

Now  although  this  remark  (which  Miss  Drexel  affected  not 
to  hear — she  was  so  busy  taking  off  her  gloves)  seemed  a  quite 
haphazard  and  casual  thing,  it  very  soon  appeared,  during  the 
progress  of  this  exceedingly  merry  dinner,  that  lady  Mussel- 
burgh, as  she  now  was,  had  been  wondeiing  whether  they  might 
not  carry  the  frolic  a  bit  further ;  whether,  in  short,  this  little 
party  of  five  might  not  go  on  to  Paris  together  by  the  elevcB 
o'olock  boat  that  same  night 


trj  irell;  but  lie 
i  odd — and  in  • 
stannmt  und  find 
them  pressing  an- 
bntfOf  coane,th6 
mention  of  a  man. 
rations  out  of  bis 
ig  told  the  coach- 
ted  their  guest  to 
iraiter  opened  the 
nt  saw  was  that, 
MnsselbuTgh  and 
they  were  regard- 
some  little  amose- 
;onoerted,  as  they 

kther  impatiently, 
famishing.  Here, 
yon  sit  next  Miss 

for  five.    As  Yin- 

)fore  a  magistrate 

lemanded,  with  a- 

the  remotest  idea 
more  like  Gretna 

he,  regarding  Yin- 
is — to  the  Britisk 

>rexel  affected  not 
es)  seemed  a  qnite 
i>eared,  during  the 
that  lAdy  Mossel- 
'hether  they  might 
n  short,  this  little 
)her  by  the  elevm 


STAKD  van,  OBAIO-MTITOVI 


S«7 


<•  Why,  Looie,  yon  deqtise  conventionalities,"  she  ezehumed. 
*'  Well,  now  is  your  chance  I" 

Miss  Louie  pretended  to  be  much  frightened. 

"  Oh,  but  I  couldn't  do  that  I"  she  cried.  •'  Neither  Nan  nor 
I  have  any  things  with  us." 

"  The  idea  of  American  girls  talking  of  taking  things  with 
them  to  Paris  I"  the  bride  said,  with  a  laugh.  <«Ihat  is  tha 
very  reason  yon  should  go  to  Paria»-to  get  the  things." 

**  Do  yon  really  mean  to  cross  to-night  T  VineeBt  adtod,  tam- 
ing to  Mnaselbargh. 

««0h,  yes,  certainly.  The  fixed  serrice— eleven  o'clock— •© 
there's  no  hurry,  whiUtever  you  decide  on." 

For  he,  too,  seemed  r^her  taken  with  this  audacious  project; 
said  he  thought  it  would  be  good  fun ;  pleasant  company,  and 
all  that ;  also  he  darkly  hinted — perhaps  for  the  benefit  of  the 
American  young  Udies— that  Paris  had  been  altogether  too 
pallid  of  late,  and  wanted  a  little  crimson  added  to  its  complex- 
ion. And,  indeed,  as  the  little  banquet  proceeded,  these  intrepid 
schemes  widened  out,  in  a  half-jocular  way.  Why  should  the 
runaway  party  stop  at  Paris!  Why  should  they  not  all  go  on 
to  Uie  Mediterranean  together,  to  breathe  the  sweet  airs  blown 
in  from  the  sea,  and  watch  the  Spring  emptying  her  lavish  ^»- 
ful  of  flower*  over  the  land!  Alas!  it  fell  to  Yincent's  lot  to 
demolish  diese  fairy-like  dreams.  He  said  he  would  willingly 
wait  -o  see  tho  recruited  party  off  by  that  night's  steamer;  and 
would  send  any  telegrams  for  them,  or  deliver  any  meiaaget; 
bat  he  had  to  return  to  London  the  next  morning,  witbont  fail 
And  then  Miss  Louie  Drexel  said  it  was  a  pity  to  spoil «  pleas- 
ant evening  by  talking  of  impossibilities;  and  that  they  had 
already  sufficiently  outraged  conventionalities  by  ronnmg  away 
with  a  carriage  and  pair  ud  breaking  in  upon  a  wedding  tour. 
So  the  compbdsant  young  bride  had  for  the  moment  to  abandon 
ber  half-senous,  half-whimsical  designs;  and  perhaps  she  even 
bK>p«d  that  Miss  Drexel  had  not  overheard  her  suggested  com- 
panion between  the  British  embassy  at  Paris  and  Gretna 

Oreen.  .       , ,    t 

At  nine  o'clock  the  carriage  came  round,  and  at  nme  o  clock 
the  younger  people,  having  got  their  good-byes  said  aU  over 
UMHB,  set  out  for  home.  v , 

« I  suppose  we  ought  to  keep  this  Uttte  dzpediUoil  a  seenA^ 


896 


•TAWD  VAST,  OBAIO-ROraTOirt 


■aid  Vincent,  M  they  were  climbing  tip  from  the  dasky  valley 
to  the  moonlight  above,  which  was  now  very  clear  and  ^hite. 

"Whyr  BaidMiasLonie. 

"  Rather  cnnanal— isn't  it  f*  he  asked,  doabtfally,  for  he  knew 
little  of  sQch  matters. 

"That's  what  made  it  so  nice,"  she  answered,  promptly. 
"  Don't  yoa  think  they  were  charmed  t  Fancy  their  being  qaite 
alone  in  that  big  hotel,  waiting  for  a  steamer !  We  had  it  all 
planned  ont  days  ago.  Didn't  yoa  suspect  in  the  least — when 
yon  know  they  were  going  by  Newhaven  and  Dieppe,  and  that 
ihey  would  have  to  wait  till  eleven  to-night  t  I'm  sure  they 
would  have  been  delighted  if  we  had  gone  over  to  Paris  witiL 
them,  and  down  to  the  Mediterranean ;  bat  I  suppose  that  would 
have  been  a  little  too  niuch — ^just  a  little  too  much  1" 

Aud  if  Miss  Drexel  was  vivacious  and  talkative  on  her  way 
ont,  she  was  equally  so  on  the  way  back ;  so  that  Vincent,  in 
sach  cheerful  company,  had  little  reason  to  regret  their  having 
captured  and  run  away  with  him.  Then  again  the  night  was 
inrpassingly  beautiful  —  the  moonlight,  gray  on  the  Und  and 
white  on  the  sea ;  the  heavens  cloudless ;  the  world  everywhere 
apparently  silent  and  asleep.  Not  that  they  were  to  get  all  the 
way  home  without  a  little  bit  of  an  adventure,  however.  When 
they  reached  the  top  of  the  height  just  west  of  Rottingdean, 
Lonie  Drexel  proposed  that  they  should  get  out  and  walk  along 
the  cliff  for  a  whil^  leaving  the  carriage  to  go  slowly  on  by  road. 
This  they  accordingly  did ;  and  very  sbon  the  carriage  was  out 
of  sight;  for  at  this  point  the  highway  is  formed  by  a  deep 
cattii^f  in  the  chalk.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  by  themselves  on 
such  a  night — high  up  on  this  lofty  cliff,  overlooking  the  wide, 
fiur-shimmering,  silver  sea. 

Ftesently  there  came  into  the  stillness  a  sound  of  distant 
voices;  and  shortly  afterwards,  at  the  crest  of  the  hill,  a  band 
of  strayed  revellers  ^appeared  In  sight,  swaying  much  in  their 
walk,  and  singing  diverse  choruses  with  energy  rather  than  with 
skill.  They  were  in  high  good  humor,  all  of  them.  As  they 
drew  near,  Vincent  perceived  that  one  of  them  was  a  soldier ; 
and  he  jwemed  the  centre  of  attraction ;  this  one  and  that  dung 
to  his  arm,  until  their  legs,  becoming  involved,  carried  them  wide 
•way,  when  two  other  members  of  the  group  would  occupy  the 
twin-placev  of  honor.    The  soldier  was  drink,  too ;  bat  he  had 


wtAJtm  VAflr,  ORAto-ROTiTOirr 


N0 


the  dasky  valley 
ear  and  "nrhite. 

fnllv,  for  he  knew 

wered,  promptly. 

their  being  qaite 
Wo  had  it  all 

the  least — when 

Dieppe,  and  that 

t    I'm  sure  they 
ver  to  Paris  witiii 
ippose  that  would 
luch  1" 
ative  on  her  way 

that  Vincent,  in 
Bgret  their  having 
lin  the  night  was 

on  the  land  and 
world  everjrwhere 
rere  to  get  all  the 
,  however.  When 
it  of  Rottingdean, 
at  and  walk  along 
slowly  on  by  road. 
)  carriage  was  oat 
formed  by  a  deep 
by  themselves  on 
rlooking  the  wide, 

sound  of  distant 
>f  the  hill,  a  band 
ng  mnch  in  their 
y  rather  than  with 
f  them.  As  they 
sm  was  a  soldier; 
>ne  and  that  clnng 
carried  them  wide 
wonld  occnpy  the 
c,  too ;  bat  be  had 


fhe  honor  of  the  flag  to  midntaln,  and  made  some  heroic  effort 
to  march  straight 

Now  what  with  their  insensate  howling  and  staggering,  they 
were  almost  on  Vincent  and  his  two  companions  before  they 
were  aware;  but  instantly  there  was  a  profusion  of  offers  of 
hospitality.  The  gentleman  must  drink  with  them  at  the  Royal 
Oak.  The  gentleman  declined  to  drink,  and  civilly  bade  them 
good-night.  At  the  same  moment  another  member  of  the  jovial 
crew  appeared  to  have  discovered  that  there  were  also  two  young 
ladies  here ;  most  probably  he  had  a  dim  suspicion  there  might 
only  be  one ;  however,  it  was  this  one,  the  one  nearest,  he  in- 
sisted  should  also  go  down  and  have  a  glass  at  the  Royal  Oak. 
It  was  all  done  in  good  fellowship,  with  no  harm  meant;  bat 
when  at  the  same  time  this  particular  roisterer  declared  ho 
would  have  his  sweetheart  come  along  o'  him,  and  caught  Miss 
Louie  by  the  arm,  he  had  distinctly  overstepped  the  bounds  of 
prudence. 

"  Hands  off  1"  said  Vincent ;  and  he  slung  the  fellow  a  dip 
on  the  ear  that  sent  him  staggering,  until  his  legs  got  mixed  up 
somehow,  and  away  he  went  headlong  on  to  the  grass. 

Then  he  said  in  a  rapid  undertone  to  the  two  girls — 

«  Off  you  go  to  the  carriage — quick  1" 

He  turned  to  the  now  mnrmuring  group. 

«What  do  you  wantT  he  said.  *'I  canH  fight  all  of  yoa; 
I'll  fight  the  soldier — make  a  ring,  to  see  fair  play — ^" 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder;  the  two  girls  had  dlAppeared ; 
now  he  breathed  freely. 

"  But,  look  here,"  said  he,  in  a  most  amicable  tone,  "  you've 
had  a  glass — any  one  can  see  that — and  it's  no  use  a  man  trying 
to  fight  if  he's  a  bit  unsteady  on  his  pins ;  you  know  that  qoito 
welL  And  I  don't  want  to  fight  any  of  you.  If  yon  ask  me 
in  a  friendly  way,  I'll  go  down  to  the  Royal  Oak  and  hwt 
something  with  you;  or  Fll  treat  you,  if  you  like  thirt  better. 
I  call  that  fair." 

And  they  seemed  to  think  it  fur,  too;  so  they  picked  up 
their  companion  (who  looked  drowsy)  and  helped  him  along. 
But  they  hadn't  gone  half  a  dozen  yards  when  two  dark  figures 
appeared  at  the  top  of  the  chalk  cutting ;  and  these,  when  they 
came  quickly  up,  Vincent,  to  his  surprise,  discovered  to  be  the 
coachman  and  footman. 
84 


-■■;«A!!iMW)^'JtB*»: 


>s«i«Bi^fe^ 


870 


WAirD  VABT,  OftAIO-MTSTOVI 


"  Where  are  the  yoong  ladiea  F'  he  demanded,  inetaatly  and 
angrily. 

*'  MIm  Drexel  is  on  the  box,  sir — she  sent  as  to  you,"  said 
the  coachman,  staring  with  amasement  at  the  revellers,  and  no 
doubt  wondering  when  the  fighting  was  about  to  begin. 

'*  Ob,  go  away  baclc  I"  said  he.  "  Qet  the  ladies  into  the  car- 
riage and  drive  them  home !  I'm  going  to  have  a  drink  with 
these  good  fellows — I'll  follow  on  foot  I" 

'*  I'm  quite  sure,  sir.  Miss  Drexel  won't  go,"  said  the  coach- 


But  here  the  soldier  stepped  forward.  He  had  arrived  at 
some  nebulous  perception  of  the  predicament;  and  he  consti* 
tnted  himself  spokesman  of  the  party.  They  had  no  wish  to 
inconvenience  the  gentleman.  He  hoped  some  other  night>— 
proud  to  see  such  a  gentleman — wouldn't  interfere  with  ladies 
— not  interftire  with  anybody — all  gentlemen  and  good  friends 
—no  use  in  animosity — no  offence  meant — no  offence  takei^— 

This  harangue  might  have  gone  on  all  night  had  not  Yin- 
Mnt  cut  it  short  by  requesting  to  be  allowed  to  hand  his  friend* 
five  shillings  to  drink  his  health  withal ;  and  away  the  jocund 
brethren  went  to  obtain  more  liquor— if  luq>ly  they  could  induce 
the  landlord  of  the  Royal  Oak  to  serve  them. 

And  there,  sure  enough,  was  Miss  Louie  Drexel  seated  sedately 
on  tiie  box,  whip  and  reins  in  hand;  and  there  was  Miss  Anna, 
in  the  white  moonlight,  at  the  horses'  heads.  ISHien  Yineeni 
and  his  two  companions  were  in  the  carriage  again,  he  said  to 
the  elder  of  them, 

"  Why  didn't  yon  drive  away  home  f* 

"Drive  away  homef  said  su^with  some  touch  of  vibrant 
Indignation  in  her  voice.  "  And  leave  you  there  t  I  was  just 
a»  near  as  possible  going  back  myself,  with  the  whip  in  my 
hand.  Do  you  think  I  couldn't  have  lashed  my  way  thron^^ 
tiiose  drunken  fools  f 


led,  intUvtlj  and 

as  to  you,"  said 
I  revellers,  sod  no 

to  begin. 

tdies  into  the  oar- 

lave  a  drink  with 

;*  said  the  eoaoh- 

[e  bad  arrived  at 
t;  and  be  oonsti* 
r  bad  no  wish  to 
me  other  night— 
erfere  with  ladies 
and  good  friends 
»  offence  taken— 
gbt  had  not  Yin- 
>  band  his  friends 
away  the  joonnd 
they  coald  indoce 

eel  seated  sedately 

e  was  Miss  Anna, 

.    ISlien  Vincent 

again,  he  said  to 


tooch  of  vibrant 

bero  f    I  was  jost 

the  whip  in  my 

my  way  thron^^ 


WIAKB  tAST,  ORAIO-aOTtlONI 


911 


CHAPTER   XXIU 

A  SPLrr  AT  LAST. 

Tra  lenoTStion  of  Mnsselbargh  House  took  more  time  than 
bad  been  hoped ;  bride  and  bridegroom  remabed  abroad,  bask- 
ing in  the  sweet  airs  and  sanligbt  of  the  Mediterranean  spring; 
and  it  was  not  antil  well  on  in  the  month  of  May  that  they  re- 
tomed  to  London.  Immodiately  after  their  arrival  Vincent  called 
on  them — one  afternoon  on  his  way  down  to  St  Stephen's.  He 
sUyed  only  a  few  minutes,  and  bad  little  to  say.  Bat  the  moi 
ment  he  had  left  Lady  Masselburgb  turned  to  her  husband — 

"Oh,  Hubert,  isn't  it  dreadful!  Did  you  ever  see  such  a 
change  in  any  human  being  t  And  no  one  to  tell  us  of  it — ^not 
even  his  own  father — ^nor  a  word  from  Louie  Drexel,  though  she 
wrote  often  enough  about  him  and  what  he  was  doing  in  the 
House-." 

•'Tes,  he  does  look  iU,"  said  Lord  Musselburgh,  witb  a  seri- 
onsness  not  nsoal  witb  him.  **  Very  ill,  indeed.  Yet  be  doesn't 
wem  to  know  it— dedaiet  tb«re  is  nothbg  the  matter  with 
bim— diows  a  little  impatience,  even,  when  yon  begin  to  ask 
questiona.  I  suppose  be  has  been  working  too  hard ;  too  eager 
and  anxious  all  the  way  round ;  too  ambitious — ^not  like  most 
young  men.  He'd  better  give  up  that  newspaper-nonsense,  for 
one  thing." 

"Ob,  H  isn't  that,  Hubert;  it  isn't  thatl"  she  excbumed,  in 
father  piteous  accents;  and  she  walked  away  to  the  window 
(this  was  the  very  room  in  which  Vincent  had  first  set  eyes  on 
Ifaisrie  Bethnne  and  her  grandfather). 

She  stood  there,  alone,  for  a  time.  Then  ber  husband  went 
and  joined  ber,  and  linked  his  arm  within  hers.  She  was  ery. 
ing  a  little. 

*•  I  did  it  for  the  bert,  Hubert,"  she  sobbed 

"Did  what  for  the  best r 

"Getting  that  girl  away.  I  never  thought  it  would  come  to 
tUa.** 


879 


BTAltD   VAIT,  OKAIO-mOTtTOIfl 


'<  Now,  now,  Madgo,"  nid  he,  in  •  rery  affectionate  faahion, 
"  don't  yon  worry  about  nothing — or,  rather,  it  isn't  noUiing,  for 
Vin  does  loolc  protty  seody ;  bat  you  muatn't  aasume  that  you 
are  in  any  way  rosponaiblo.  People  don't  die  nowadays  of  sep- 
aration and  a  brolcen  heart — not  nowadays.  He  is  fagged ;  he 
is  not  nsed  to  the  late  hours  of  the  Uoose  of  Commons ;  then 
there's  that  newspaper-work — " 

"  But  his  manner,  Hubert,  his  manner  1"  she  exclaimed.  "  He 
seemed  as  if  ho  no  longer  cared  for  anything  in  life ;  he  hardly  lis- 
tened when  I  told  him  where  we  had  been ;  he  appeared  to  be  think- 
ing of  something  quite  different — as  if  he  were  looking  at  ghoita." 

"  And  perhaps  he  was  looking  at  ghosts,"  nid  her  hnsbrad. 
"  For  it  was  by  that  table  there  he  first  saw  those  two  people 
who  have  made  all  thia  trouble.  But  why  should  you  eonaider 
yourself  responsible,  liadge  t  It  wajn't  your  money  that  sent 
them  out  of  the  country.  It  wasn't  you  who  found  out  what 
thoy  really  were." 

She  passed  her  handkerchief  across  her  eyes. 

"  1  was  quite  snre,"  she  went  on — not  heeding  this  consola- 
tion—" that  as  «oon  as  she  was  got  away — as  soon  as  he  was 
removed  from  the  fascination  of  her  actual  presence — he  wonld 
beg^n  to  see  things  in  their  true  light.  And  then,  thrown  into 
the  sooiety  of  a  eharming  and  clever  girl  like  Lonie  Drexel,  1' 
hoped  everything  lor  him.  And  is  this  all  that  has  come  of  it, 
that  he  looks  as  if  he  were  at  death's  door  t  It  isn't  the  House 
of  Commons,  Hubert;  and  it  isn't  the  newspaper- work ;  It  is 
simply  that  he  still  believes  in  that  girl,  and  that  he  is  eating 
his  heart  out  about  her  absence,  and  has  no  one  to  confide  in. 
For  that  Is  the  worst  of  It  all ;  it  Li  all  a  sealed  book  now,  ai 
between  him  and  us.  He  was  for  leavibg  sy  house  in  Brigh- 
ton—oh,  the  rage  Le  was  in  with  me  about  her  I — and  it  would 
have  been  for  the  last  time,  too,  I  know ;  only  that  I  promised 
never  again  to  mention  the  subject  to  him,  and  on  that  oondi- 
tion  we  have  got  on  furly  well  since.  But  bow  am  I  to  keep 
silence  any  longer!  I  cannot  see  my  boy  like  that  I  most 
speak  to  him ;  I  must  ask  bim  if  he  is  still  so  mad  as  to  believe 
in  the  honesty  of  those  two  people ;  and  then,  h  I  find  that  his 
infatuation  still  exists,  even  after  all  this  time,  tbett  I  most  sim- 
ply tell  him  that  they  took  money  to  go  away,  How  Ma  be  get 
over  that t    How  can  beget  over  that, Hubert !"• 


•TAirO  fAtr,  OBAKhMTMrai 


iit 


ectionate  fuhion, 
t  isn't  noihinR.  for 
t  Mtome  that  you 
oowadays  of  sop- 
He  is  fagged ;  he 
f  Commons ;  then 

9  exclaimed.  "  He 
life ;  he  hardly  lis- 
>peand  to  be  think* 
looking  at  ghoita." 
■aid  her  hnaband. 
'  thoae  two  people 
lould  you  eonaider 
ir  money  that  aent 
M)  fcnnd  ont  what 

res. 

eding  this  consola< 
-as  soon  as  he  was 
)resenco — he  wonld 
1  then,  thrown  into 
tike  Loale  Drexel,  V 
that  has  eome  of  it, 
It  isn't  the  House 
irspaper-work ;  It  is 
id  that  he  is  eating 
D  one  to  confide  in. 
lealed  book  now,  aa 
sy  house  in  Brigh- 
her ! — and  it  would 
tnly  that  I  proniaed 

and  on  that  eoodi- 
t  how  am  I  to  keep 

like  that  I  must 
so  mad  as  to  believe 
en,  ii.  I  find  that  his 
ne,  tbeu  I  most  sim- 
ly.  How  wa  h«  get 
ert!"- 


In  hor  despair  this  was  ahnost  a  challenge  aa  well  aa  an  ap* 
peaL    But  her  husband  waa  doubtful. 

**  When  a  man  ia  in  Ioto  with  a  woman,"  said  he,  ••  he  oait 
forgiTo  a  good  lot — confound  it,  he  can  forgive  everything, 
or  nearly  everything,  so  long  as  she  can  persuade  him  she  loves 
him  in  return — " 

*'  But  not  this,  Hubert,  not  this  1"  the  young  wife  exckimed. 
"  Even  if  he  could  forgive  her  being  a  thief  and  the  accomplice 
of  au  old  charlatan  and  swindler — and  what  an  '  if ' — imagine 
that  of  Vincent— of  Vincent,  who  is  aa  proud  aa  Lucifer — im« 
agide  that  of  him  i — but  even  if  he  were  willing  to  forgive  all 
that,  how  could  he  forgive  her  being  bought  over,  her  taking 
money  to  remain  away  from  himt  No,  no,  Hubert;  surely 
there  is  a  limit,  even  to  a  young  man's  f oliy  1" 

"Of  course  you  know  best,"  her  husband  said,  in  a  dubioua 
kind  of  way.  "  I've  seen  some  queer  things  in  my  time,  with 
young  men.  And  Vin  Is  an  obstinate  devil,  and  tenacious ;  h« 
sticks  to  anything  he  takes  up ;  look  at  him  and  that  wretched 
newspaper-work,  for  example.  If  ho  has  persuaded  hirosolf  of 
the  innocence  and  honor ~of  this  girl,  it  may  be  hnrd  to  move 
him.  And  I  remember  there  was  something  very  winning  and 
attractive  about  her — something  that  bespoke  favor — " 

*'That  waa  what  mado  her  so  useful  to  that  old  impostor  I" 
Lady  Musselburgh  said,  vindictively. 

"  Of  course,"  he  admitted, "  as  you  say,  here  is  the  undoubted 
fact  of  their  taking  the  money.  If  Vin  is  to  be  convinced  at 
all,  It  is  possible  that  may  convince  him." 

**  Very  well,  then,"  aaid  she,  with  decision,^'  he  must  and  shall 
be  oonvinoed ;  and  that  no  further  ofl!  than  to-morrow  m  ruing, 
ril  tell  HarUnd  I'm  coming  along  to  lunch,  so  that  he  may  be 
in  the  honae,  to  give  me  any  papers  I  may  want  And  surely, 
nnty,  when  Vincent  perceives  what  thoM  people  are,  and  what 
aa  escape  he  has  bad,  he  will  oeaae  to  t.^ope  and  fret;  at  his 
time  of  life  there  ought  to  be  other  things  to  think  of  than  a 
girl  who  haa  deceived  him  all  the  way  through,  and  ended  by 
taking  money  to  leave  the  country  I" 

But,  notwithstanding  all  this  brave  confidence.  Lady  Mussel- 
burgh felt  very  nervous  and  anxbus  as  she  went  down  next 
morning  to  Orosvenof  Plaee.  She  waa  alone— her  husband  waa 
nMnihg  abng  later,  for  lunch ;  and  aha  went  on  foot,  to  give 


f/^ 


mfwm 


t74 


ItATD   FAUr,  ORAM-nOTiTOirl 


her  •  littl*  moN  tion*  to  umngB  her  p'Mi  of  pro««dur«.  Fbr 
this  WM  hor  iMt  bolt,  and  the  knew  it.  If  hia  f*t«l  obetiiiMy 
withstood  this  fliul  assault,  then  there  WMa  no  hope  for  hln,  or 
for  her  fa^reachiDg  schemes  with  regard  to  him. 

She  went  into  the  drawing-room ;  and  he  came  as  soon  ss  he 
was  sent  for.    These  two  were  now  alone. 

"  Do  70a  know,  Vin,"  she  began  at  once,  "  Ilabert  and  I  have 
been  much  concerned  about  you ;  for  though  yon  won't  admit 
there  it  anything  the  matter,  the  change  in  your  appearance 
Btmok  OS  yMterday  the  moment  yoa  came  iu ,  indeed,  it  mads 
me  qoite  anxious ;  and  after  you  were  gone,  Hubert  and  I  talked 
a  litUs  about  you  and  your  affairs — you  may  be  sure  with  only 
the  one  wish  in  our  minds.  Hubert  thinks  yon  are  oTcr-fagged ; 
that  you  are  too  close  in  your  attendance  at  the  House ;  and  that 
you  should  give  up  your  newspaper  writing  for  a  time.  I  wish 
it  were  no  more  than  that    But  I  suspect  there  is  something 


**  Aunt,*'  said  he,  interrupting  her— 4wd  yet  with  something 
of  a  tired  air,  "  do  you  think  there  is  any  use  in  talking  and  in* 
quiring  and  suggesting  t  Wlut  has  happened  has  happened.  It 
is  something  yoa  don't  understand,  and  something  you  couldn't 
put  right— with  all  your  good  wishes." 

'*  Yes,  yea,"  she  said,  eagerly,  for  she  was  rejoiced  to  find 
that  he  took  her  interference  so  amiably ;  '*  that  is  quite  right; 
and,  mind  yon,  I  don't  forget  the  agreement  we  came  to  at 
Brighton,  that  a  certain  subject  should  never  be  referred  to  by 
either  of  us.  I  quite  remember  that;  and  you  know  I  have 
never  sought  to  return  to  it  again  in  any  way  whatever.  But 
yoor  looks  yesterday,  Yin,  frightened  mo ;  and  at  this  moment 
-r-why,  yoa  are  not  like  my  dear  boy  at  all.  I  wish  in  all  seri- 
oiv  .uw48  yoa  had  come  over  to  Paris  with  us — yon  and  Louie— 
//tnd  gone  with  as  to  the  Mediterranean ;  we  should  not  have  al> 
lowed  yoa  to  fall  into  this  condition—" 

**  Oh,  Fm  well  enough,  aunt !"  said  he. 

<'Yoa  are  not  well  I"  she  insisted.  "And  why!  Beeani* 
yoor  mind  is  ill  at  ease—" 

"  And  very  little  comfort  I  have  to  hope  for  from  yon,"  said 
hfi,  remembering  former  conversations ;  but  there  was  no  bitter^ 
in  his  tone— only  a  sort  of  resigned  hopeleasneask 

••Now,  that  is  not  fair,  Yin  t"ibe  protested.    "Iflnidthimi 


W"^"* 


sir  I 

of  pro««dur«.    For 

i  hia  f«Ul  obatioMy 

BO  hop*  for  hiai,  or 

>  him. 

>  came  m  ioon  m  bo 

"  Habort  and  I  have 
igh  yon  won't  admit 
in  your  appearaaeo 
iu ,  indeed,  it  made 
,  Hubert  and  I  talked 
ky  be  rore  with  only 
yon  are  orer-f agged ; 
the  Honse ;  and  that 
I  for  a  time.  I  wish 
t  there  is  ■omethiag 

yet  with  something 
ise  in  talking  and  in* 
ed  has  happened.  It 
netfaing  yoo  coalda't 

was  rejoiced  to  And 
*  that  is  quite  right ; 
nent  we  came  to  at 
^er  be  referred  to  by 
id  you  know  I  have 
way  whatever.  But 
and  at  thia  moment 
L  I  wish  in  all  seri- 
is — yon  and  Louie— 
e  should  not  hare  al> 


ind  whyt    Beoans* 

I  for  from  yon,"  said 

t  there  was  no  bitter* 

opelessneask 

>d.    MifliaidthiBgi 


sffAim  VASir,  oaAie-noTSTOMi 


170 


to  yon  yon  did  net  like,  what  motive  bad  I  but  yonr  happiaeasf 
And  now  at  this  moment,  if  I  re-open  that  sabjeot,  it  is  not  the 
kind  of  comfort  yon  apparently  hope  for  that  I  am  prepared  to 
give  you,  but  lomething  quite  different  I  ahould  like  to  heal 
your  roontal  ailment,  once  and  for  all,  by  convincing  you  of  the 
truth." 

^  **  Yes,  I  think  we  have  heard  something  of  that  sort  on  previ- 
ous occasions,"  he  said,  rather  scornfully.  "  The  truth  ss  it  is 
in  George  Morris  I  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  would  be  more 
useful,  more  to  the  point,  and  more  becoming.  Before  saying 
anything  further  about  that  old  man  and  his  granddaughter,  I 
think  you  ought  to  go  and  seek  them  out,  and  go  down  on  your 
kneefi  to  them  and  ask  their  pardon—** 
V  "For  whatr 

"  For  what  you  have  already  said  of  them — and  suspected." 

"  Really,  you  try  my  patience  too  much  1"  she  excUumed,  with 
some  show  of  temper.  "  What  have  I  said  or  suspected  of  them 
that  was  not  amply  justified  by  the  account  of  them  that  yonr 
father  offered  to  show  you  t  Of  course  you  wouldn't  look  at  it 
Certainly  not  I  Facts  are  inconvenient  things,  most  uncomfort* 
able  things,  where  one's  prepossessions  are  involved.  But  /  had 
no  objection  to  looking  at  it — ^" 

"  I  suppose  not  I"  said  he. 

*'  And  my  eyes  were  not  blinded ;  I  could  accept  evidence 
when  it  was  put  before  me." 

"Evidence I"  he  repeated.  "Yon  forget  that  I  have  been 
across  the  Athiotie  since  that  precious  document  waa  compiled. 
I  heard  how  that  evidence  had  been  got;  I  could  see  Low  it 
could  be  perverted  to  suit  the  malignant  theories  of  a  pack  of 
detectives.  And  if  I  came  back  with  any  settled  conviction,  it 
was  that  yon  and  one  or  two  others — myself,  too,  in  a  way — 
conld  do  no  better  than  go  and  humblo  ourselves  before  ths* 
old  man  and  that  girl,  and  beg  for  their,  forgiveness,  and  their 
foi|;etfttlness  of  the  wrongs  and  insults  we  have  pnt  upon  them." 

"  Oh,  this  is  beyond  anything  1"  sh«  cried — rather  losing  com- 
mand of  herself.  "  Yon  drive  me  to  speak  plain.  Eveiything 
yonr  father  and  I  conld  think  of  was  tried  to  cure  yon  of  this 
mad  infatuation — the  most  patient  i,nquiry>— expenditure  of 
money*— representations  that  wonld  have  convinced  any  sane 
penon.    N<^ng  waa  of  any  use.    What  was  to  be  done  nntl 


r^ 


<iH 


BTAHD   VAST,  OBAIO-ROTBTOVI 


Wei],  we  conld  only  hny  up  thoM  honorable  persons — who  were 
not  adventurers  in  any  kind  of  way — oh,  certainly  not  I — ^but  all 
the  same  they  were  willing  to  be  bought;  and  so,  oj  payment 
of  a  sobstantial  consideration,  they  agreed  to  pack  up  their  traps 
and  be  off.  What  do  you  think  of  that  f  What  do  you  say  to 
that!  Where  was  the  old  gentleman's  indomitable  pride f — 
where  was  the  girl's  pretended  affection  for  you  I — when  they 
consented  to  take  a  good  round  sum  of  money  and  be  off  ?  How 
can  you  explain  that  away  ?" 

She  regarded  him  with  a  certain  defiance — for  she  was  moved 
to  anger  by  his  obduracy.  But  if  she  expected  him  to  wince 
under  this  sudden  stab  she  was  mistaken. 

"  How  do  I  know  that  this  is  true !"  he  said,  calmly. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  speaking  untruths,"  she  said,  slightly 
drawing  herself  up. 

"Oh,  of  course  not,"  he  answered.  "But  all  through  this 
matter  there  has  been  a  good  deal  of  twisting  about  and  misrep- 
resentation. I  should  like  to  know  from  whom  Mr.  Bethune 
got  this  money — and  in  what  form." 

Well,  she  was  prepared. 

"  I  suppose  yon  would  be  convinced,"  said  she,  "  if  I  showed 
you  the  receipt — a  receipt  for  £5000 — which  he  signed  and  gave 
to  George  Morris  f 

*'  Where  is  that  receipt  T'  he  asked. 

"  In  this  house.  I  will  go  to  your  father  and  get  it  Shall  I 
«sk  him  at  the  same  time  for  those  other  documents  which  yon 
would  not  read  f  Perhaps,  all  taken  together,  they  might  ena- 
ble you  to  realize  the  truth  at  last" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  coldly.  "  I  know  how  those  other 
documents  were  procured.     I  dhall  be  glad  to  see  the  receipt" 

She  hurried  away,  anxious  to  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot, 
and  certain  she  had  already  made  a  profound  impression.  And 
so  she  had,  in  one  way,  all  unknowing.  When  she  left  the  room 
he  remitineu  standing,  gasing  blankly  at  the  sides  of  the  books 
on  the  table ;  outwardly  impassive,  but  with  his  brain  working 
rapidly  enough.  He  made  nc  manner  of  doubt  that  she  could 
produce  this  receipt  He  took  it  for  granted  that  George  Be- 
thune had  accepted  the  money.  Of  course,  Maisrie  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it;  her  grandfather- kept  her  in  ignorance  of  his  pe- 
eaniary  affairs ;  and  it  would  be  enough  for  him  to  say  that  die 


I 


STAHO  VABT,  ORAIO-BOTBTON ! 


611 


ersons — who  were 
linly  not ! — but  all 
id  so,  oa  payment 
pack  up  their  traps 
rhat  do  you  say  to 
omitable  pride? — 
you! — when  they 
and  be  of!  f    How 

for  she  was  moved 
cted  him  to  wince 

d,  calmly. 

,"  she  said,  slightly 

it  all  through  this 
',  about  and  misrep- 
rhom  Mr.  Bethune 


.  she,  "  if  I  showed 
he  signed  and  gave 


ind  get  it  Shall  I 
ouments  which  you 
Br,  they  might  ena- 

jw  how  those  other 

0  see  the  receipt*' 

)  the  iron  was  hot, 

i  impression.    And 

en  she  left  the  room 

sides  of  the  books 

1  his  brain  working 
snbt  that  she  could 
ed  that  Oeorge  Be- 
Uaisrie  had  nothing 
Ignorance  of  his  pe- 
hun  to  say  that  she 


must  go  away  with  him  from  England — she  was  obedient  in  all 
things.  And  no  doubt  the  old  man  had  been  cajoled  and  flat- 
tered into  believing  he  was  acting  justly  and  in  the  best  in- 
terests  of  every  one  concerned;  ^ere  could  have  been  little 
difSculty  about  that ;  he  was  quick  to  persuade  himself  of  uiy- 
thing  that  happened  to  fall  in  with  the  needs  of  the  moment 
All  this  Vincent  understood  at  once.  But  when  he  came  to 
consider  that  it  was  his  own  relatives  who  had  brought  upon 
him  all  the  long  torture  and  suffering  of  these  bygone  months 
— 4nd  not  only  that;  for  what  was  he  or  his  hidden  painf — 
but  also  that  they  had  once  more  driven  forth  those  two  tired 
wanderers— the  old  man  who  had  some  wistful  notion  of  end- 
ing his  days  in  his  own.  country,  the  young  girl  whose  maid- 
en eyes  haid  just  made  confession  of  her  lovensecret — then  his 
heart  grew  hot  within  him.  It  was  too  cruel.  When  Lady 
Musselburgh  returned  with  the  receipt  in  her  hand,  he  took  the 
piq>er  and  merely  glanced  at  it 

"And  whose  clever  and  original  idea  was  thisf*  he  demand^ 
ed — with  what  she  took  to  be  indifference. 

"But,  Vincent — are  you  convinced  at  last?"  she  exclaimed. 
"Surely  you  must  see  for  yourself  now.  You  will  give  up 
thinking  of  them — thinking  of  that  girl  especially  when  you 
see  what  she  is — " 

<<  Whose  idea  was  it  to  get  them  sent  away  ?"  he  repeated. 

"  Well,  it  was  my  idea,"  she  said ;  "  but  your  father  paid  the 
money." 

He  was  silent  for  a  secoud  or  two, and  then  he  said,  slowly: 
And  you  are  my  nearest  relatives;  and  this  is  what  yon 
have  done,  not  to  me  only,  but  to  one  who  is  dearer  to  me  than 
life.  So  be  it  But  yon  cannot  expect  me  to  remain  longer 
nnder  this  roof,  or  to  sit  down  at  table,  anywhere,  yrith  my  cru- 
ellest enemies — ** 

She  twned  very  pale. 

"  Vincent !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  It  is  a  question  of  taking  sides,"  he  went  on,  with  perfc  -t 
composure ;  "  and  I  go  over  to  the  other  side.  They  most  need 
help ;  they  are  poor  and  friendless.  I  hope  the  mischief  you 
have  done  is  not  irreparable;  I  cannot  tell;  but  I  dare  say 
when  yon  and  I  itneet  again  time  will  have  shown." 

She  Iras  thunderatnck  and  stup^ed ;  she  ^d  not  even  leeik 


tT8 


STAITD   FAN,  tJSAIO-BOTflTOV  t 


;;- 


to  detain  him  u  he  left  the  room.  For  there  mm  t  eoriouli  air 
of  self-poMearion,  of  resolntion,  about  his  manner ;  this  waa  no 
piqae  of  diaappointed  passion,  nor  any  freak  of  temper.  And 
she  coold  not  but  ask  herself,  in  a  breathlesa  aort  of  wi^, 
whether,  after  all,  he  might  not  be  in  the  right  about  those  peo- 
ple ;  and,  in  that  oaae,  what  waa  this  that  ahe  had  broOght  about  t 
She  waa  frightened — ^too  frightened  to  reaaon  with  herself,  peN 
hapa;  she  only  saw  Vincent  learing  hia  lather'a  roof— matting 
himself  off  from  hia  own  family'-Huid  ahe  bad  a  dnmb  ooa^ 
aciooanesb  that  it  was  her  work,  throogh  aome  fatal  error  of 
jndgment  And  she  seemed  to  Jamw  instinetiTely  that  thia  atep 
that  he  bad  taken  was  irrevoca'6le->-«nd  that  she  waa  in  some 
dim  way  responsible  for  all  that  had-ocenrred. 

When  Lonl  Mnsseltmrgh  arrired,  he  and  Harlmd  Harria  came 
opHrtairs  together;  and  almost  directly  afterwards  Innoheon  waa 
announced.  Aa  they  were  about  to  go  down  to  the  dining-room 
the  great  Communist-capitalist  looked  round  with  a  little  air  of 
impatience  and  said, 

"But  where  is  ViuT 

**  He  was  here  a  short  time  ago,*'  said  Lady  Musselbnigh ;  she 
dared  not  say  more. 

Mr.  Harris,  from  below,  sent  a  message  to  his  son's  room ;  the 
answer — which  Lady  Musselburgh  heiud  in  silence— waa  that 
they  were  not  to  wait  luncheon  for  him. 

"Too  buay  with  hia  reply  to  the  Smtin^,"  Mnsaelbuigh  sug- 
gested. *'  Sharp  cuts  and  thrusts  going.  I  wonder  that  celes- 
tial minds  ahoold  grow  so  acrid  orer  anch  a  anbject  as  the 
nationalisation  of  tithe." 

lliere  was  some  souffle  on  the  sturs  outside,  to  which  nobody 
(except  Lsdy  Musselbuigh,  whose  ears  were  painfully  ca  the 
alert)  paid  any  attention ;  but  when  a  hansom  waa  called  up  to 
the  front  door,  Harland  Harris  happened  to  look  out 

"  What,  is  he  going  off  somewhere  t  I  never  knew  any  crea- 
ture so  careless  about  his  meals.  I  presume  his  indifference 
means  a  good  digestion." 

•'Oh,Vin*B  digestion  is  all  rlg^t,"  Lord  Muaselbaigli  laid. 
'*  I  hear  he  dines  every  tiight  at  the  House  of  Commona— «nd 
yet  he  is  alive— " 

«  But  there  are  hia  portmanteaua  1"  Mr.  Harris  ezebimed,  and 
he  even  row  and  went  to  the  window  for  •  ■eeond.    Well,  he 


•TAVB  VAVr,  OKAIQ-mOTBTOiri - 


879 


B  mm  »  earioDS  ab 
inner ;  this  was  no 
c  of  temper.  And 
lilew  sort  of  way, 
lit  aboat  those  peo- 
ladbrotightabontt 
a  with  herself,  per- 
lier's  roof— ^ottiBg 
had  a  damh  ooa* 
otne  fatal  errwr  of 
tirely  that  this  step 
It  she  was  in  some 
d. 

[arland  Harris  came 
irards  luncheon  waa 
I  to  the  dining-room 
I  with  a  Utile  air  of 


y  Masselbnrgh ;  ahe 

his  son's  room ;  the 
1  silence— waa  that 

,"  Moaaelbnrgh  sag- 
[  wonder  that  eelea- 
h  a  aabjeot  as  tiie 

de,  to  which  nobody 
re  punfnlly  en  the 
>m  was  eaUed  np  to 
lookout. 

ever  knew  any  crea- 
une  his  indifference 

i  Mosseibaigli  nid. 
)  of  Commons — and 

[arris  ezefadmed,  and 
a  leoond.    Well,  he 


waa  jnst  in  time  to  see  Vincent  step  into  the  cab  and  drire  off; 
and  therewith  he  returned  to  his  place  at  table,  and  proceeded, 
in  his  nsoal  bUnd  and  somewh^  patronising  manner,  to  tell 
Lord  Moaeelbargh  of  certain  experiments  he  was  having  made 
in  copper'lostre.  He  waa  not  in  the  least  concerned  abont  that 
departing  cab ;  nor  did  he  know  that  that  was  the  last  glimpse 
of  his  son  he  waa  to  have  for  many  and  many  a  day. 

And  meanwhile  Lady  Masselbnrgh  sat  there  frightened  and 
goilty  and  ailent^  And  that  without  reason ;  for  what  she  had 
done  she  had  done  with  the  full  concurrence  and  approval  of 
h«r  brother4n-biw  and  hnjiattei  (•«  he  then  waa).  Yet  some- 
how she  seemed  to  feel  herself  entirely  answerable  for  all  that 
had  happened— for  the  failure  of  all  her  schemes — ^for  the  catas- 
trophe that  had  resulted.  And  the  moment  she  got  outside  her 
brother-in-law's  house  she  began  and  confessed  the  whole  truth 
to  her  husband. 

«  But  why  didn't  you  tell  Harris  f  said  he,  pausing,  as  if  evcQ 
now  he  would  go  back. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't,  Hubert;  I  daren't!"  she  said,  evidently  in 
great  distress.  **I  waa  so  confident  everything  would  oome 
right — I  advised  him — I  persuaded  him  to  pay  the  £5000—" 

**0h,  nonsense  I"  was  the  impatient  reply.  "  A  man  doesn't 
hud  over  £6000  unless  he  is  himself  convinced  that  it  is  worth 
while.  And  he  got  what  he  baigained  for.  Those  people  have 
gone  away;  they  don't  interfere  any  more — ^ 

<*  Ah,  but  that  is  not  all,"  Lady  Musselburgh  put  in,  rather 
sadly.  "  I  made  so  sure  that  Yin  would  forget — that  as  soon  as 
the  hallucination  had  worn  off  a  little,  he  would  see  what  those 
people  really  were,  and  turn  his  eyes  elsewhere ;  yet  apparently 
he  believes  in  their  honesty  more  firmly  than  ever — ^talks  of  my 
going  and  asking  their  pardon — and  the  like ;  and  now  be  has 
wholly  broken  away  from  us — declares  he  will  never  be  under 
the  same  roof  with  us,  or  sit  down  at  the  same  table  with  us. 
He  has  gone  over  to  the  other  side,  he  says,  becAuse  they  are 
poor  and  friendless.  -  Poor  and  friendless  I"  sl^e  repeated,  with 
a  snap  of  anger — ^"  living  on  the  fat  of  the  !«t  d  through  their 
thieving !  And  yet — "  And  here  again  she  paused,  as  if  re- 
calling something  to  herself :  "Do  yon  know,  Hubert,  I  was 
startled  and  frightened  by  Vin'a  manner  to<lay ;  for  I  had  sud^ 
denly  to  ask  myself  whether,  aftor  t%  it  was  possible  be  might 


mmm 


880 


STAVD   rA(Vr,  OKAIOKBOTBTOM  i 


JS,: 


be  in  the  t\g\tf  and  we  altogether  wrong.  In  «U  other  thinge 
he  shows  hi'iiaelf  so  clear-headed  and  able  and  shrewd ;  and  then 
he  has  ecr,a  the  world ;  you  woald  not  take  him  to  hii  one  who 
eonld  be  easily  deceived.  Sometimes  I  hardly  know  what  to 
think.  Bat,  at  all  events,  this  is  what  yon  mast  do  now,  Habert ; 
yon  mast  get  hold  of  him,  and  persaade  him  to  go  back  home, 
before  Harland  knows  anything  of  what  had  been  intended.  He 
can  invent  some  excuse  about  the  portmanteaos.  Yon  can  go 
down  to  the  House  to-night,  and  see  him  there ;  and  if  yon  per- 
suade him  to  return  to  Qrosvenor  Place,  that  will  he  so  maoh  of 
the  mischief  set  straight  That  is  the  first  thing  to  be  done ; 
but  afterwards — " 

It  was  quite  clear  that  she  knew  not  what  to  think,  for  she 
went  on  again,  almost  as  if  talking  to  herself : 

"  Of  course,  if  the  girl  were  a  perfectly  jfood  and  hon<'st  girl, 
and  above  suspicion  of  every  kind,  Yin's  constancy  and  devotion 
to  her  would  be  a  very  fine  and  noble  thing ;  and  I,  for  one, 
should  be  proud  of  him  for  it.  But  as  things  are,  it  is  a  mon- 
omania— nothing  else  than  a  monomania!  He  must  see  that 
she  is  in  league  with  that  old  man  to  g^t  money  on  false  pre- 
tences." 

**  He  sees  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  her  husband,  bluntly. 
'*  She  may  or  she  may  not  be ;  I  know  little  or  nothing  aboat 
her ;  but  if  she  is,  Yin  doesn't  see  it ;  yon  may  make  up  your 
mind  about  that" 

"  And  yet  he  seems  sharp-sighted  in  other  things,"  said  Lady 
Musselburgh  in  a  pensive  sort  of  way ;  and  then  she  added : 
<*  However,  tiie  first  step  to  be  taken  is  to  get  him  back  to  his 
own  family ;  and  none  can  do  that  so  well  as  yon,  Habert ;  yon 
are  his  old  friend ;  and  yon  stand  between  us,  as  it  were.  And 
there's  one  thing  abont  Yin ;  ke  can't  disappear  oat  of  the  way ; 
yon  can  always  get  hold  of  him — at  the  Honse  of  Commons." 

Lord  Musselburgh  bad  not  been  long  outrried ;  he  did  as  he 
was  bid.  And  very  eagerly  did  Yincent  welcome  this  ambaft 
Mdor,  when  he  encountered  him  in  the  lobby. 

«  Come  ont  on  ta  the  terrace.  I  was  just  going  to  write  to 
yon ;  I  want  yon  to  do  me  the  greatest  service  yon  can  imagine  1" 

"  Here  I  am,  ready  to  do  anybody  any  number  of  services,"  said 
Lord  Musselbnrgh,  aa  they  proceeded  to  stroll  np  and  down  thia 
dark  space,  with  the  wide  river  flowing  silently  by,  and  the  in- 


nmo  vAiT,  oiLuo-Bornoir  i 


881 


In  «11  other  things 
shrewd ;  and  then 
lim  to  bt;  one  who 
rdly  know  what  to 
i8t  do  now,  Hnbert ; 
n  to  go  back  home, 
been  intended.  He 
eaos.  Yon  can  go 
sre ;  and  if  yon  per- 
;  will  he  so  maoh  of 
t  thing  to  be  done ; 

it  to  think,  for  she 
f: 

ood  and  hont'st  girl, 
istancy  and  deTotion 
mg ;  and  I,  for  one, 
igs  are,  it  is  a  mon- 
He  mnst  see  that 
money  on  false  pre- 

er  husband,  bluntly, 
itle  or  nothing  abont 
I  may  make  up  your 

er  things,"  said  Lady 
md  then  she  added : 
get  him  back  to  his 
as  you,  Hnbert;  you 
ns,  as  it  were.  And 
•pearontof  the  way; 
juse  of  Commons." 
larried ;  he  did  as  h« 
welcome  this  ambi» 
by. 

nst  going  to  write  to 
ice  you  can  imagine  I" 
DQber  of  serrices,"  said 
roll  up  and  down  this 
lenUy  by,  and  the  in- 


numerable small  b«kda  of  gold  showing  where  London  lay  in  the 
dusk.  "  Only  too  happy.  And  I  am  in  the  best  position  for 
being  mediator,  for  I  havo  nothing  to  gain  from  either  side — 
eicept,  of  course,  that  I  should  be  extremely  sorry  to  see  you 
quarrelling  with  your  relations.  This  is  always  a  ipistake,  Vin, 
my  boy ;  bad  for  you,  bad  for  them.  And  I  hope  you  will  let 
me  go  bade  with  the  important  part  of  my  commission  done— 
that  is  to  say,  I  was  to  persuade  yon  to  return  to  Orosyenor 
Place,  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  My  wife  is  awfully 
upset  about  it — thinks  it  is  entirely  owing  to  her ;  whereas  I 
don't  see  that  it  is  at  all.  She  has  been  trying  to  do  her  best 
for  ererybody — for  your  father  as  well  as  for  yourself.  And 
the  notion  that  yon  should  cut  yourself  off  from  your  family 
naturally  seems  very  dreadful  to  her ;  and  if  I  can  take  her  the 
assurance  that  you  don't  mean  anything  of  the  kind — very  well  1" 

*'0h,  but  look  here,  Musselburgh,"  said  Vincent,  "yon  en- 
tirely mistake.  It  was  not  about  that  I  wished  to  see  yon ;  not 
at  ail ;  on  that  point  it  is  useless  saying  anything.  Yon  must 
assure  Lady  Musselbnrgh  that  this  is  no  piece  of  temper  on  my 
part — ^nothing  to  be  smoothed  over  and  hushed  up.  I  have 
seen  all  along  that  it  was  inevitable.  fVom  the  moment  that  my 
aunt  and  my  father  took  up  that  position  against — against  Mais- 
rie  Bethune  and  her  grandfather — I  foresaw  that  sooner  or  later 
this  mnst  come.  I  have  tried  to  reason  with  them ;  I  have  as- 
sured them  that  their  suspicions  and  their  definite  charges  were 
as  cruel  as  they  were  false ;  and  all  to  no  purpose.  And  this 
Ust  thing :  this  bribing  of  an  old  man,  who  can  be  too  easily 
persuaded,  to  take  his  granddaughter  away  with  him  and  sub- 
ject her  to  the  homeless  life  she  had  led  for  so  many  years — 
perhaps  there  are  some  t>ther  considerations  I  need  not  mention 
— this  is  too  much.  But  I  knew  that  sooner  or  hrter  a  severe 
ance  would  come  between  them  and  me ;  and  I  am  not  unpre- 
pared. Yon  wondered  at  my  drudging  away  at  that  newqwper 
work,  when  my  father  was  allowing  me  a  handsome  income. 
Now  do  you  see  the  use  of  itt  I  am  independent  I  can  do 
as  I  please.  I  can't  make  a  fortune ;  but  I  can  e«m  enough  to 
live  on — and  something  more.  Let  them  go  their  way,  as  1  go 
mine ;  it  has  not  been  all  my  doing." 

Lord  Musselburgh  was  ^sconcerted;  but  he  was  a  dutiful 
husband ;  he  went  on  to  argue.    He  found  he  might  as  well  ajt- 


W^ 


''•"'MiMnaMiJi 


88S 


•TAKB  rAiT,'OftAIO-M>TnO>t 


tempt  to  urgne  with  •  milflstone.    Nothing  conld  ihdDB  this 
joang  nuin's  detennination. 

"  I  told  L«dy  MoBselburgh  I  had  gone  over  to  the  other  nde, 
thii  time  for  good,"  nid  he.  "  We  are  in  oppo«t:>  eampt  now. 
We  hare  been  40  all  along — but  not  (^nly.  Thia  piece  of 
treaeherjf  has  been  too  much  for  me;  we  are  better  apart;  I 
eoald  not  sit  down  at  table  ^ith  people  who  had  acted  like  that 
— ^whaterer  their  motives  were.  Bat  you,  Mosselborgh,  yoa 
were  not  concerned  in  that  wretched  piece  of  scheming;  and  as 
I  tell  70a,  yon  can  do  me  the  greatest  possible  service.  Will 
yoa  do  it  t    Or  will  yoa  rather  cast  in  yoor  lot  with  them  f* 

**  Ob»  well,"  said  Mosselborgh,  rather  disappointedly,  *'  I  don't 
see  why  I  should  be  compelled  to  take  sides.  I  want  to  do  my 
best  for  everybody  concerned.  I've  jnst  come  into  the  family, 
as  yoa  might  say ;  and  it  seems  a  pity  there  should  be  any 
quarrel  or  break  up.  I  h»d  a  kind  of  notion  that  we  should  all 
of  us— but  particularly  my  wife  and  myself  and  you  and— end 
— ^yonr  wife— I  thought  our  little  party  of  four  might  have  a 
very  pleasant  time  together,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  My 
wife  and  I  have  often  talked  of  it,  and  amused  ourselves  with 
sketching  out  plans.    Seems  such  a  pity—" 

**  Yes,"  said  Vincent,  abruptly,  '*  but  there  are  other  things  in 
life  besides  going  to  Monte  Carlo  and  staking  five-frano  pieoes." 

«  What  is  tills  that  you  want  me  to  do  f"  his  friend  asked 
next — seeing  that  those  inducements  did  not  avail 

**  Well,"  said  Vincent,  **  I  suppose  yon  know  th»'.  Lady  Ma»- 
solborgh  showed  me  this  morning  the  receipt  Mr.  Bethune  gave 
George  Moms  for  the  £5000.  It  was  a  simple  receipt ;  notii- 
ing  more.  But  everybody  knows  George  Morris  is  not  tiie  man 
t6  part  with  money  nneonditionidly ;  there  must  have  been  ar> 
rangements  and  pledges ;  and  I  want  to  discover  what  Mr.  Be- 
thune unde.Hook  to  do,  where  he  andertook  to  go.  Morris  won't 
teU  me,  tiiat  is  certain  enough ;  but  he  would  probably  tell  you." 

Lord  Musselburgh  hesitated. 
^  <*  Why,'*  said  he,  **  you  know  why  thAt  money  was  paid.    It 
was  paid  for  the  express  purpose  of  getting  them  away— so  that 
you  sheirid  not  know  where  they  are—" 

*'  Precisely  so,"  said  Vincent.  "  And  yon  would  thevefora  be 
und<^g  a  part  of  the  wrong  that  has  been  done  them,  by  your 
wife  and  my  lather." 


DWt 

Dg  could  ahtks  this 

rer  to  the  other  aide, 
oppoeit^i  esmpf  now. 
ivAy.  This  piece  of 
i  are  better  aput;  I 
o  had  acted  like  that 
B,  Mosselborgh,  yoo 
of  Boheming;  and  as 
saible  serrice.  Will 
r  lot  with  them  f ' 
ippointedly, "  I  don't 
SB.  I  want  to  do  my 
ome  into  the  family, 
there  shoold  be  any 
on  that  we  should  all 
If  and  yoo  and— and 
>f  four  might  hare  a 
ne  and  abroad.  My 
nosed  onrMlves  with 

re  are  other  things  in 
ing  five-franc  pieces." 
lo  t"  his  friend  asked 
lot  avail 

know  ths'..  Lady  Ma»- 
ipt  Mr.  Bethane  gave 
iimple  receipt;  notii- 
Morris  is  not  tiie  man 
e  mast  have  been  ar- 
liscover  what  Mr.  Be- 
:  to  go.  Morris  won't 
lid  probably  tell  yon." 

money  was  paid.    It 
g  them  awiq^-«o  that 

on  woold  therefore  be 
a  done  them,  by  your 


avAan  vast,  omAia>BOTRoiii  Mt 

"  Oh,  I  don't  call  it  doing  a  wrong  to  a  man  to  give  him 
X5000,"  said  Lord  Mnsselbnigh,  with  a  tonoh  of  resentment 
"  He  needn't  have  taken  the  money  nnleas  he  liked." 

<*Do  yon  know  what  representations  were  made  to  him  to  in< 
dnee  him  to  take  itf*  Vincent  said. 

<«We!!,  1  don't,"  was  the  reply.  "They  seUled  all  that 
among  themselves;  and  I  was  merely  made  acqnainted  with 
the  resolts.  It  wonid  hardly  have  been  my  pkuM  to  interfere, 
yon  see ;  it  was  before  my  marriage,  remember ;  in  any  case,  I 
don't  know  that  I  shonld  have  wanted  to  have  any  say  in  Uie 
matter.  However,  the  actoal  ontcome  we  all  of  us  know ;  and 
yon  mnst  confess,  Vin,  whatever  pwsaasions  were  used,  it  looks 
a  rather  shady  transaction." 

**  Yes— on  the  part  of  tiiose  who  induced  him  to  accept  the 
bribe  i"  Vincent  said,  boldly. 

"Oh,  come,  come,"  Lord  Musselburgh  interposed,  rather  te»- 
tily,  *•  don't  be  so  bigoted.  It  isn't  only  your  considering  that 
girl  to  be  everything  that  is  fine  and  wonderful — I  can  under> 
stand  that — ^the  glamour  of  love  can  do  anything ;  but  you  go  too 
far  in  professing  the  greatest  admiration  and  respect  Tor  this 
old  man.  Leave  us  some  chance  of  agreeing  with  yon,  of  b»- 
lieving  yoo  sane.  For  yoo  can't  deny  that  he  took  the  raon^ ; 
there  is  the  plain  and  simple  fact  staring  yon  in  the  face.  Mora 
than  that,  his  taking  it  was  the  justification  of  those  who  offered 
it;  it  proved  to  them  that  he  was  not  the  kind  of  person  with 
whom  yon  should  be  connected  by  marriage.  I  jwy  nothing 
aboot  the  young  kdy ;  I  don't  know  her;  perhqw  her  sssoci*- 
tion  all  these  years  with  this  old — ^well,  I  won't  call  him  names 
— has  not  affected  her  in  any  way ;  perhaps  she  believes  in  him 
as  implicitly  as  yoo  appear  to  do.  But  as  for  him ;  well,  take 
any  unprejudiced  outsider,  like  myself ;  what  am  I  to  think  when 
I  find  him  accepting  diis  money  fro'n  strangera  f ' 

*'  Yes,"  said  Vincent,  »  little  ciNMntiy.  **  I  suppose,  to  an 
outsider,  ^it  would  louk  bad.  But  it  is  because  yon  don't  know 
him,  Mosselborgh ;  or  the  story  of  hi»life ;  or  his  drcomstanees. 
I  cMifeas  that  at  one  time  thera  were  things  that  disquieted  me; 
I  rather  shot  my  eyes  to  them ;  but  now  that  I  nndentond  what 
this  nan  is,  and  what  he  has  gone  through,  and  how  he  bean 
hinMkelf,  it  isn't  only  pity  I  feel  for  him,  it  is  raspeot,  and  mora 
tiiaa  reqteetb    But  it's  a  long  story ;  and  it  would  have  to.  be 


tM 


ITA>D  FAIT,  OaAICHKOTfTOV  t 


told  to  pympathetio  e«n ;  it  would  be  little  om  telling  it  to  my 
father  or  to  my  annt — they  have  the  detectives'  verdon  before 
them — they  have  the  detectives'  reading  of  the  ease." 

"  Well,  tell  me,  at  least,"  said  his  friend.  **  I  wsnt  to  get  at 
the  tmth.  I  have  no  prejudice  or  prepossession  one  way  or  the 
other.  For  another  thing,  I  like  to  hear  the  best  of  everybody 
— and  to  believe  it,  if  I  can ;  it  makes  life  ploasanter ;  and  I  can't 
forget,  either,  that  it  was  through  me  yon  got  to  know  George 
Bethane." 

It  was  a  long  story,  as  Vincent  had  said;  and  it  was  •  diffi- 
cult one  to  set  in  order  and  in  a  proper  light ;  but  it  was  ehitfly 
based  on  what  had  been  told  him  by  the  Toronto  banker;  and 
Mr.  Thompson's  generous  interpretation  of  it  ran  through  it  all. 
Lord  Mosselburgh  listened  with  the  greatest  interest  and  atten- 
tion. What  seemed  mostly  to  strike  him  was  the  banker's 
phrase — "  Call  Qeorge  Bethane  an  impostor  if  yon  like ;  bat  the 
man  he  has  Imposed  on,  his  whole  life  through,  has  bees'^ 
Cleorge  Bethune." 

"  Well,  it's  all  very  extraordinary,"  he  said,  when  Vincent 
had  finished.  "  I  wish  I  had  taken  the  trouble  to  become  a  lit- 
tle better  acquainted  with  him ;  one  is  so  apt  to  judge  by  the 
outside ;  I  thought  he  was  merely  a  picturesque  old  fellow  with 
'a  mad  enthusiasm  about  3coUand.  And  yet  I  don't  know  what 
to  say  even  now.  All  that  ycu  have  told  me  sounds  very  plaus- 
ible and  possible— if  you  take  that  way  of  looking  at  it ;  and 
the  whole  thing  seems  so  pitiable,  especially  for  the  girl ;  he  hu 
his  delusions  and  self-confidence — she  has  only  her  loneliness. 
But  at  the  same  time,  Vin,  yon  most  admit  that  these  little 
weaknesses  of  his  might  easily  be  misconstrued — " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Vincent,  with  promptitude.  "  It  is  just  as 
Mr.  Thompson  said ;  if  yon  choose  to  look  at  Cleorge  Bethune 
through  blue  spectacles,  his  way  of  life  must  appear  very  doubt- 
ful ;  if  you  choose  to  look  at  him  through  pink  spectacles,  there 
is  something  almost  heroic  about  him.  And  I  think,  Mussel- 
burgh, if  yon  knew  the  lion-hearted  old  man  a  little  better,  yon 
wouldn't  shrink  from  acknowledging  that  there  was  sometiidng 
fine  and  even  grand  in  his  character.  As  for  Maisrie— M  fc* 
Miss  Bethune — she  asks  for  no  generous  connderatioii  or  Ittr. 
bearance,  or  anything  of  the  kind;  she  asks  for  no  lenleovj  of 
judgment,  and  needs  none ;  she  is  beyond  find  above  idl  thatk,,.! 


M  telling  it  to  my 
ves'  ver^on  before 
lie  cue." 

**  I  want  to  get  at 
lion  one  wty  or  the 

best  of  ererybody 
asanter ;  mm!  I  can't 
ot  to  know  George 

and  it  was  a  diffi- 
bttt  it  was  eUtfly 
oronto  banker ;  and 
t  ran  throagb  it  sll. 
,  interest  and  atten- 
k  was  the  banker's 
if  yon  like ;  bat  the 
iroogh,  has  been— 

said,  when  Vincent 
iblo  to  become  a  lit- 
ipt  to  judge  by  the 
sque  old  fellow  with 
1 1  don't  know  what 
le  soands  very  plans- 
f  looking  at  it ;  and 
for  the  girl;  he  hw 
only  her  loneliness, 
mit  that  these  little 
rued—" 

tude.  "  It  is  just  as 
E  at  George  Bethane 
st  appear  very  doubt- 
pink  spectacles,  there 
And  I  think,  Moasel- 
an  a  little  better,  you 
there  was  someUdng 
B  for  Maisrie— «i  fc 
conuderati<»i  «r  lar« 
iks  for  no  leniency  of 
snd  above  ^  that.  .  I 


OTASD  FAST,  OSAia-BOTSTOll  I  JM 

know  her — none  better  thnn.  I ;  and  she  has  only  to  remain  what 
she  is — *  dass  Gott  sie  erhalte,  so  soh5n  and  rein  and  hold  1' " 

There  was  a  break  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke.  Lord  Moasel- 
burgh  was  silent  for  a  moment — he  felt  like  an  intruder  upon 
something  too  sacred.  And  yet  he  had  his  mission ;  so  pres- 
ently he  forced  himself  to  resume : 

"  Well,  after  all,  Yin,  I  think  yon  must  grant  that  there  is 
something  to  be  said  for  your  relatives,  even  if  they  have  been 
mistaken.  They  could  not  know  all  that  you  know — ail  that 
yoa  learned  in  Canada  as  well ;  they  could  only  judge  from  the 
octdde ;  they  could  only  believe  what  they  heard — " 

"Why  did  they  interfere  at  allf'  Vincent  demanded,  in  his 
turn.  "  Why  had  they  Mr.  Bethune's  steps  dogged  by  detec- 
tives f 

"  You  should  be  the  last  to  protest  It  was  entirely  for  your 
sake  that  it  was  done."  "^ 

"  Yes,"  said  Vincent,  with  a  certain  scorn.  "  It  was  for  ray 
sake  they  were  so  ready  to  suspect — it  was  for  my  sake  they 
were  so  eager  t^  regard  everything  from  the  attorney's  point  of 
view  I  They  would  not  take  my  word  for  anything ;  they  would 
rather  toast  to  their  private  inqairy  offices.  I  was  supposed  to 
be  so  easily  blinded ;  the  swindlers  had  snob  a  willing  dope ;  no 
reliance  was  to  be  phced  but  on  the  testimony  of  spies.  What 
childish  rnbbish  I  Why,  I  introduced  my  aant  to  Mr.  Bethane 
and  his  gnmddaaghter ;  she  conii  not  finds  word  to  say  against 
them — bat  her  suspicions  remained  all  the  same  I  And  then, 
apparently,  she  went  and  eonsolted  with  ray  father.  It  was  so 
dreadful  that  I  was  being  cheated  by  tht./se  two  dangerous 
ohanactersi  Conlda't  the  lawyers  and  their  private  inqairy 
agents — cooldn't  they,  make  out  some  story  that  would  appal 
roe  f  Coaldn't  they  make  np  some  bogey — straw  and  an  oM 
coat— 4hst  would  terrify  me  out  of  my  wits  t  And  then  when 
I  wssn't  Appalled  by  their  idle  trash  of  stories — oh,  for  good- 
ness sake,  get  those  desperate  creatares  smuggled  away  oat  of 
the  coontiyl  No  safety  unlen  they  were  hidden  away  som»- 
vhere.  Ajid  then  they  went  to  the  old  msn ;  and  I  can  imagine 
how  they  persuaded  him.  The  greatest  kindness  to  every  one 
concerned  if  only  he  would  fall  in  wHh  their  views;  he  would 
lave  his  granddaughter  from  entering  a  fiimily  who  has  mis- 
taken, but  undonbted^ prejudiees  agaiust  her;  and  of  conisa 
25      B 


■"tvr'ftti-'i^isfn^Ti^:':^ 


■«■■ 


Mm 


MTAVD  rAn,  OBAIO-BOTtrom 

they  oonldn't  allow  him  to  pat  himaelf  lo  mneh  abont  withont 
eodeavoring  to  pay  part  of  the  coat  It  waa  no  aolatiam  to  the 
young  lady— oh,  no,  certainly  not  I — probably  ahe  wac  deatined 
for  moch  higher  thinga ;  and  it  waa  no  gift  to  himaelf ;  it  was 
merely  tliat  the  relatirea  of  tlut  hot-headed  yonng  mac  were 
deairoca  of  pleaaing  themaelvea  by  ahowing  how  moch  they 
appreciated  bin,  Mr.  Beth^me's,  generoaity  in  making  thia  littlo 
aacriflce.  Well,  they  aaoceeded;  hot  they  little  knew — and 
they  little  know — what  they  have  done  T' 

Perhapa  there  waa  aomething  in  the  proud  and,  withal,  dia- 
dainful  tonea  of  the  young  man'a  voice  that  waa  aa  convincing 
aa  hia  worda ;  at  all  events,  hia  friend  said : 

"  Well,  I  aympathise  with  you,  Yin,  I  do  really.  But  you 
aee  how  I  am  aitoated.  I  am  an  emiaaary,  an  intermediary — I 
want  peace — " 

"  It  is  no  use  saying  peace  where  there  ia  no  peace,"  Vincent 
broke  in.  *'  Nrr  need  there  be  war.  Siionoe  ia  best  Let  what 
haa  been  done  go ;  it  cannot  be  undone  now." 

'*  Vincent— if  yoo  would  only  think  how  fond  your  aunt  is 
of  you — if  yon  would  only  think  of  her  distreaa — " 

"  It  waa  aho  who  ought  to  have  conaidered  first,"  waa  the  re- 
joinder. '*  Do  yon  imagine  I  have  suffered  nothing,  before  I 
went  to  America,  and  then,  and  aince  t  Bnt  that  is  of  little  ac- 
count I  could  forgive  what  haa  happened  to  myself.  It  is 
when  I  think  of  some  one  else — sent  edrift  upon  the  world 
again— but  it  ia  bettor  not  to  talk  P 

**  Well,  yes,"  persisted  Lord  Musselburgh,  who  waa  in  a  sad 
quandary,  for  the  paaaionrte  indignation  of  this  young  man 
aeemed  so  much  stronger  than  any  persuaaive  argument  that 
could  be  brought  against  it,  **1  can  perfectly  understond  how 
you  may  oonaider  yonraelf  wronged  and  injured — and  how  mnch 
more  you  feel  what  you  consider  wrong  and  injury  done  to 
others ;  bot  you  ought  to  be  a  little  generous,  and  trite  motives 
into  account  Supposing  yoor  father  and  your  aunt  were  mia- 
taken  in  acting  as  they  did,  it  waa  not  through  any  selflahness 
<m  their  part  It  waa  for  your  welfare,  aa  they  thought  Surely 
you  most  grant  that  to  them." 

**  I  will  grant  anything  to  them,  in  the  way  of  justification," 
aud  Vincent, "  if  they  will  only  take  the  first  step  to  make 
atonement  for  the  miaohief  they  have  wrought    And  thai  they 


MMMPI 


■TASO  WAMt,  0BAI0<BOr»rOlfl 


eh  abont  withoat 

lo  ■oUtium  to  the 

■he  WW  destined 

0  himself ;  It  «m 
yoang  man  were 

1  how  mach  thoy 
making  this  little 
little  knew — and 

d  and,  withal,  die- 
was  as  convincing 

>  really.    Bat  you 
in  intermediary— I 

DO  peace,"  Vincent 
is  best    Let  what 

n 

fond  your  aunt  is 
tress—" 

d  first,"  was  the  re- 
1  nothing,  before  I 
I  that  is  of  little  ac- 
d  to  myself.  It  is 
ift  npon  the  world 

1,  who  was  in  a  sad 
of  this  yonng  man 
isire  argument  that 
jtly  understand  how 
treid  and  how  mnoh 
and  injary  done  to 
OS,  and  take  motives 
your  annt  were  mis- 
ongh  any  selfishness 
bey  thought    Surely 

iray  of  justification," 
le  first  step  to  make 
ight    And  that  they 


can  do  ihroogh  you.  They  can  tell  yon  on  what  conditions" 
Mr.  Bethune  was  persuaded  to  take  the  money ;  so  that  I  may 
go  to  him,  and  bring  him  back — and  her." 

**  But  probably  they  don't  know  where  he  is  I"  his  friend  ex- 
claimed, in  perfect  honesty.  "My  impression  was  that  Mr. 
Bethune  agroed  to  leave  this  country  for  a  certain  time ;  but  of 
course  no  one  would  think  of  banishing  him  to  any  particular 
spot" 

"  And  so  they  themselves  don't  know  where  Mr.  Bethune  has 
gon«  t"  said  Vincent,  slcwly. 

"  I  believe  not  I  am  almost  certain  they  don't  But  I  will 
make  inquiries,  if  yon  like.  In  the  meantime,"  said  Mussel- 
burgh, returning  to  his  original  prayer,  "  do  consider,  Vin,  and 
be  reasonable,  and  go  back  to  your  father'n  hoase  to-night 
Don't  make  a  split  in  the  family.  Giro  them  credit  for  wishing 
you  well.  Let  me  take  that  message  from  you  to  my  wife — 
that  you  will  go  home  to  Grosvenor  PUce  to-night" 

*'  Oh,  no,"  said  Vincent,  with  an  air  of  quiet  resolve.  "  No, 
no.  This  is  no  quarrel.  This  is  no  piece  of  temper.  It  is  far 
more  serious  than  that ;  and,  as  I  say,  I  have  seen  all  along  Uiat 
it  was  inevitable.  After  what  I  have  told  you,  yon  must  recog- 
nise for  yourself  what  the  situation  is.  I  have  spoken  to  you 
very  freely  and  frankly ;  because  I  know  you  wish  to  be  friend- 
ly ;  and  because  I  think  you  want  to  see  the  whole  case  clearly 
and  honestly.  But  how  could  I  talk  to  them,  or  try  to  explain  f 
Do  you  think  I  would  msult  Miss  Bethune  by  offering  them  one 
word  of  excuse,  either  on  her  behalf  or  on  that  of  her  grand- 
father! No,  and  it  would  be  no  use  besides.  They  are  mad 
with  prejudice.  No  doubt  they  say  I  am  mad  with  preposses- 
sion.   Very  well ;  let  it  stand  so." 

Lord  Musselburgh  at  length  perceived  that  his  task  was  abso- 
lutely futile.  His  only  chance  now  was  to  bring  Vincent  into 
a  more  placable  disposition  by  getting  him  the  information  he 
sought ;  but'  he  had  not  much  hope  on  that  score ;  for  people 
do  not  pay  £6000  and  tiien  at  once  render  np  all  the  advan- 
tages they  fancy  they  have  ponshased.  So  here  was  a  deadlock, 
he  nioodily  sdd  x>  himself,  as  he  walked  away  home  to  Pic- 
cadilly. 

And  as  for  Vincent  t  Well,  as  it  chanced,  on  the  next  morn- 
ing—it was  a  Wednesday  morning— when  he  went  across  from 


Wthm  tJMt,  OBAUHBOTOTOV I 

th«  WMtmInit«r  P»Im«  Hotel  to  tb*  Boom  of  Cotnmona,  and 
got  his  usaal  little  bundle  of  letten,  the  rerj  flnt  oae  that 
caoght  his  eye  bore  the  Toronto  poet-aark.  Uow  aniiooaly  he 
had  looked  for  it  from  day  to  day — wondering  why  Mr.  Thomp- 
■on  had  heard  no  news — and  becoming  more  and  more  benrt- 
•iok  and  hopeleaa  aa  the  weary  time  went  bjr  withoat  a  sign — 
and  behold  I  here  it  wai  at  bwt. 


CHAPTER  XZIV. 


MBW  WATS  or  lira. 


BoT  no  aooner  had  he  torn  open  the  envelope  than  his  heart 
■eemed  to  stand  still — with  a  sort  of  fear  and  amaaement  For 
this  was  Maisrie's  own  handwriting  that  he  beheld — as  stai  ^mg 
a  thing  aa  if  she  herself  had  anddenly  appeared  before  him, 
afta.  thesA  long,  voiceless  months.  Be  snre  the  worthy  bank> 
•r's  aooompanylng  letter  did  not  win  much  regard :  it  was  this 
•heet  of  thin  blue  paper  that  he  qniokly  unfolded,  his  eye  catch- 
ing a  sentenoe  here  and  there,  aiid  eager  to  grasp  all  that  she 
Md  to  say  at  onoe.  Alas  I  there  was  no  need  for  any  aoeh 
haste :  when  he  eame  to  read  the  message  that  she  bad  sent  to 
Toronto,  it  bad  little  to  tell  him  of  that  which  he  roost  waoted 
to  know.  And  yet  it  waa  a  roarrelbna  thing— to  hoar  her 
speak,  as  it  were  I  There  was  no  date  nor  plaoo  mentioned  in 
the  letter ;  bnt  none  the  less  had  this  actual  thing  come  all  the 
way  from  her;  her  fingeta  had  penned  those  lines;  she  had 
folded  np  this  sheet  of  paper  that  now  lay  in  hia  hands.  It 
appeared  to  have  been  written  on  board  ahip ;  farther  than  that 
all  was  nneertain  and  unknown. 

He  went  into  the  library,  and  aongbt  ont  a  qaiet  corner; 
tbere  was  Mmething  in  the  strange  retieeoee  of  thic  conunani- 
ealion  that  be  wished  to  atady  with  case.  And  yet  there  waa 
ra  q>pai«nt  aimplicity,  toa  Bbo  beg^  by  telling  Ifr.  Tlionip- 
MB  thi*  her  graftdfather  had  asM  bar  to  wrila  to  bim,  merely 
to  recall  both  of  them  to  his  memory ;  and  she  went  on  to  aay 
that  they  often  talked  of  him,  and  thonght  of  him,  and  of  by* 
gone  days  in  Toronto.    ''Whether  we  ehall  evet  snriffise  joa 


M  of  Gommont,  and 
I  rttj  fiwt  oB«  that 
.  How  Mxiontly  h« 
ring  why  Mr.  Thomp- 
dore  and  more  henrt- 
by  without  •  i^pi— 


MAVD  tAtr,  0«AIO>MTfTO>l 


180 


pa. 

ivelope  than  hia  baati 
and  aroaaement.    For 
le  beheld— MiUtUing 
appeared  before  him, 
■are  the  worthy  bank- 
loh  regard :  it  waa  thia 
mf  olded,  hia  eye  oatch- 
r  to  graap  all  that  ahe 
BO  need  for  aoy  aneh 
;e  that  ahe  bad  aent  to 
which  he  moat  waated 
iiB  thing— to  hoar  her 
Dor  place  mentioned  in 
tnal  thing  come  all  the 
I  those  linca;  she  had 
V  lay  in  hia  banda.    It 
ahip;  further  than  that 

^ht  oat  a  qoiet  eoner  *, 
leenee  of  thic  oommam- 
■e.  And  yat  there  waa 
Ik  by  telUng  Mr.  Tbomp- 
«D  wrHft.to  him,  merely 
and  ahe  went  on  to  aay 
«ght  of  him,  and  of  by- 
)  shall  QTOi  aorptiae  yon 


by  an  naeipeotad  visit  to  Yonge  Street,"  ahe  proeeeded,  '•  I 
OMinot  tell ;  for  grandfather'a  plana  eeetn  to  be  very  vague  at 
preaent,  and,  in  fact,  I  do  not  think  he  likes  to  bo  questioned. 
Bat  as  far  aa  I  can  judge  he  does  not  enjoy  travelling  ss  much 
aa  he  used ;  it  q>peara  to  fatigue  him  more  than  formerly ;  and 
from  my  heart  i  wiah  he  would  aettle  down  in  aome  qniet  place, 
•ad  kt  me  care  for  him  better  than  I  can  do  in  long  voyagea 
•nd  railway  joomeya.  Yon  know  what  a  brave  face  he  pnta 
on  everything — and,  indeed,  becomea  a  little  impatient  if  you 
show  anxiety  on  hia  behalf;  atUl,  I  can  aee  he  ia  not  what  ha 
waa ;  and  l  think  he  ahould  reat  now.  Why  not  in  hia  own 
country  I — that  haa  been  his  talk  for  many  a  day ;  but  I  sup- 
pose he  considers  me  quite  a  child  yet,  and  won't  confide  in 
me ;  so  that  when  I  try  to  persuade  him  that  wo  nhould  go  to 
Scotland,  and  aettle  down  to  a  quiet  life  in  aome  pUco  familiar 
to  him,  he  growa  quite  angry,  and  telle  roe  I  don't  understand 
mich  things.  Bat  I  know  hia  own  fancy  goes  that  way.  The 
other  noming  I  waa  reading  to  him  on  deck,  and  aomehow  I 
got  t'<  think  he  waa  not  liatening;  ao  I  raiaed  my  head;  and  I 
aaw  lore  were  teara  ronning  down  his  cheeks— he  did  not  seem 
to  know  I  waa  there  at  all---and  I  heard  him  any  to  Mmsotf-*- 
*The  beeoh-woodi  of  Balluray— K>ne  look  at  them — boforo  I 
die !'  And  now  I  never  read  to  him  any  of  the  Scotch  aonga 
that  mention  placea — aueh  aa  Yarrow,  or  Craigiebnm,  Or  Logan 
Braea — he  becomea  ao  atrang^ly  agitated ;  for  some  time  after* 
warda  he  walka  np  and  down,  by  himself,  repeating  tho  name, 
aa  if  he  saw  the  place  before  him ;  and  I  know  that  he  is  con- 
stantly thinking  about  ScoUand,  but  won't  acknowledge  it  to  me 
or  to  any  one. 

"  Then  here  ia  another  piece  of  news,  which  is  all  the  newa 
one  can  aend  from  on  houd  a  ahip ;  and  it  is  that  poor  dear 
grandfather  haa  grown  vety  perempktry!  Can  yon  believe  itf 
Can  you  imagine  him  irritable  and  impatient!  Yon  know  bow 
he  haa  always  scorned  to  be  vexed  about  trifles ;  how  he  could 
alwaya  eaeape  from  every-day  annoyances  and  exasperationa  into 
hia  own  dream-world ;  but  of  late  it  haa  been  quite  different; 
and  aa  I  am  constantly  with  him,  I  am  the  chief  anfferer.  Of 
ooaiae  I  don't  mind  it,  not  in  the  leaat;  if  I  minded  it  I 
wouldn't  mention  it,  yoa  may  be  aure ;  I  know  what  his  heart 
naUy  feela  towards  mo.    Indeed,  it  amoaes  me  a  little ;  it  is  as 


. 


I 


;,-*ftl^5jjiK.T 


'."gp'i 


300 


BTA:n>  rkn,  OBAia-BoraTOVi 


if  I  had  grown  a  child  again,  it  is  'Do  this'  and  *Do  that'— 
and  no  reason  given.  Ah,  well,  there  is  not  much  amvsement 
for  either  of  us  two ;  it  is  something."  And  here  she  went  on 
to  speak  of  certain  common  friends  in  Toronto,  to  whom  she 
wished  to  be  remembered ;  finally  winding  up  with  a  very  pretty 
message  from  "  Yours  affectionately,  Margaret  Bethune." 

Then  Vincent  bethought  him  of  the  banker ;  what  comments 
had  he  to  make  f 

"  Dear  sir,  I  enclose  you  a  letter,  received  to  day,  from  the  per- 
nicious little  Omahussy,  who  says  neither  where  she  is,  nor  where 
she  is  going,  gives  no  date  nor  the  name  of  the  ship  from  which 
she  writes,  and  is  altogether  a  vexatious  young  witch.  But  I  im- 
agine this  may  bo  the  old  gentleman's  doing ;  he  may  have  been 
*  peremptory '  in  his  instructions ;  otherwise  I  cannot  understand 
why  she  should  conceal  anything  from  me.  A.nd  why  should  he  t 
There  also  I  am  in  the  dark ;  unless,  indeed  (supposing  him  to 
have  some  wish  to  keep  their  whereabouts  unknown  to  you),  he 
may  have  seen  an  announcement  in  the  papers  to  the  effect  that 
yon  were  going  to  the  United  States  and  Canada,  in  which  case 
ho  may  have  guessed  that  you  would  probably  call  on  one  whose 
name  they  had  mentioned  to  yon  as  a  friend  of  theirs.  And 
not  a  bad  guess  either ;  George  Bethnne  is  long-headed — when 
be  comes  down  from  the  clouds ;  though  why  he  should  tcke 
such  eUboratc  p.'ecautions  to  keep  away  from  you,  I  oaunot 
surmise." 

Vincent  knew  only  too  well !    The  banker  proceeded — 

*<  I  confess  I  am  disappointed — for  the  moment  I  took  it 
for  granted  you  would  have  no  difficulty  in  discovering  where 
they  were ;  but,  of  course,  if  friend  George  is  not  going  to  give 
his  address  to  anybody,  for  fear  of  their  communicating  with 
you,  some  time  may  elapse  before  you  hear  anything  definite. 
I  forgot  to  mention  that  the  postmark  on  the  envelope  waa  Port 
Said—" 

Port  Said  t  Had  Maisrie  been  at  Port  Said — and  not  so  long 
ago  either !  Instantly  there  sprang  into  the  young  man's  mind 
a  vision  of  the  place  as  he  remembered  it— a  poor  place,  no 
doubt,  but  now  all  lit  up  by  this  new  and  vivid  interest;  he 
could  see  before  him  the  rectangular  streets  of  pink  and  white 
shanties,  the  sandy  roads  and  arid  squares,  the  swarthy  Arabs 
and  yellow  Greeks  and  Italians,  the  busy  quays  and  repairing^ 


NAHD  VAST,  ORAIO-BOTMOiri 


S01 


d«Do  tliat'— 
icb  amvBement 
re  sbd  vent  on 
I,  to  whom  she 
th  a  very  pretty 
ethane." 
what  comments 

y,  from  the  per- 
he  is,  nor  where 
ihip  from  which 
itch.  Butlim- 
I  may  have  been 
nnot  understand 
why  shonid  be  f 
ipposing  him  to 
own  to  you),  be 
0  the  effect  that 
a,  in  which  case 
ill  on  one  whose 
of  theirs.  And 
^-headed — ^when 
he  should  trke 
a  you,  I  caunot 

rooeeded — 
aent  I  took  it 
iscovering  where 
lot  going  to  give 
munioating  with 
nything  definite. 
Qvelope  was  Port 

-and  not  so  long 
oung  man's  mind 
■a  poor  place,  no 
ivid  interest;  he 
f  pink  and  white 
le  swarthy  Arabs 
ys  and  repairing*- 


yards  and  docks,  the  green  water  and  the  swarming  boats.  And 
did  Miiisrie  and  her  grandfather — while  the  great  vessel  was 
getting  in  her  coals,  and  the  air  was  being  filled  with  to  almost 
imperceptible  black  dust — did  they  escape  down  the  gangway, 
and  go  ashore,  and  wander  about,  looking  at  the  strange  cos- 
tumes, and  the  sun-blinds,  and  the  half-burned  tropical  vegeta- 
tion f  Mr.  Thompson  went  on  to  say  that  he  himself  had  never 
been  to  Port  Said ;  but  that  he  guessed  it  was  more  a  calling- 
place  for  steamers  iktoi  a  pleasure  or  health  resort ;  and  no  doubt 
the  Bethunes  had  merely  posted  thetr  letters  there  m  tmttt. 
But  were  they  bound  East  or  West  t  There  was  no  answer  to 
this  nnestiou — for  they  had  not  given  the  name  of  the  ship. 

So  the  wild  hopes  that  had  arisen  in  Vincent's  breast  when 
he  caught  sight  of  Maisrie's  handwriting  had  all  subsided  again ; 
and  the  world  was  as  vigue  and  empty  as  before.  Sometimes 
he  tried  to  imagine  that  the  big  steamer,  which  he  pictured  to 
himself  as  'ying  in  the  harbor  at  Port  Said,  was  homeward- 
bound  ;  and  tk^t,  consequently,  even  now  old  George  Bethune 
and  his  granddaughter  might  have  returned  to  their  own  coun- 
try ;  and  then  again  something  told  him  that  it  was  nseless  to 
search  papers  for  lists  of  passengers — that  the  unknown  ship 
had  gone  away  down  the  Red  Sea  and  out  to  Australia  or  New 
Zealand,  or  perhaps  had  struck  north  towards  Canton  or  Shang- 
hai. He  could  only  wait  and  watch — and  he  had  a  sandal-wood 
necklace  when  he  wished  to  dream. 

But  the  truth  is  he  had  very  little  time  for  dreaming;  for 
Yin  Harris  was  now  become  one  of  the  very  busiest  of  the  mill- 
ions of  busy  creatures  crowding  this  London  town.  He  knew 
his  best  distraction  lay  that  way ;  but  there  were  other  reasons 
urging  him  on.  As  it  chanced,  the  great  statesman  who  had 
always  been  Vincent's  especial  friend  and  patron,  finding  that 
his  private  secretary  wished  to  leave  him,  decided  to  put  the 
office  in  commission ;  that  is  to  say,  he  proposed  to  have  two 
private  secretaries,  the  one  to  look  after  his  own  immediate 
affairs  and  correspondence,  the  other  to  serve  as  his  "  devil,"  so 
to  speak,  in  political  matters ;  and  the  latter  post  he  offered  to 
Vincent,  he  having  the  exceptional  qualification  of  being  a  mem- 
ber of  the  House.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  ex-minister 
was  influenced  in  his  choice  by  the  fact  that  the  young  man  was 
DOW  on  the  staff  of  two  important  papers,  one  a  daily  joarnal, 


.iJiMsati 


S9S 


t»Mm  VAW,  OBAIO-ROTMram 


the  other  •  weekly ;  for  sqch  mnndiae  oonriderations  do  not 
enter  the  eablime  sphere  of  politios ;  nor,  on  the  othv  bend,  is 
it  to  be  imagined  that  Vincent  accepted  the  offer  with  all  the 
'more  alacrity  that  his  hold  on  those  two  papers  might  probably 
be  strengthened  by  his  confidential  relations  with  the  great  man. 
Sormises  and  conjectures  in  snch  a  case  are  f atile — the  mere 
playthings  of  one's  enemies.  It  needs  only  to  bo  stated  that  he 
accepted  the  office  with  every  expectation  of  hard  work,  and 
that  he  got  it  Bach  hanting  np  of  aatiiorities ;  such  Teriflca* 
tion  of  quotations ;  such  boiling-down  of  blne-books;  8ttck,eon> 
stant  attendance  at  the  House  of  Commons :  it  was  all  hardly 
earned,  at  a  sahuy  of  £400  a  year.  But  very  well  he  knew  that 
there  were  many  young  men  in  the  country  who  would  have 
rejoiced  to  accept  that  position  at  nothing  a  year;  for  it  is 
quite  wonderful  how  private  t>ee-etaries  of  Parliamentary  chiefs 
manage,  subsequently,  to  tumble  in  for  good  things. 

Then  it  is  probable  that  his  journalistic  enterprises — which 
necessarily  becamo  somewhat  more  intermittent  after  his  accept- 
anct'  of  the  secretaryship — brought  him  in,  on  the  average,  an- 
other £400  a  year.  On  this  income  he  set  seriously  to  work  to 
make  himself  a  miser.  His  tastes  had  always  been  simple — and 
ezsellent  health  may  have  been  at  once  the  cause  and  tiie  effect 
of  'jia  abstemioasness  i  bat  now  the  meagre  fare  he  allowed  him- 
self, and  his  rigidly  eoouomioal  habits  in  every  way,  had  a  very 
definite  aim  in  view.  He  was  saving  money ;  he  was  building 
up  a  miniature  fortune — by  half-crowns  and  pence.  Food  and 
^ink  cost  him  nest  to  nothing ;  if  he  smoked  at  all,  it  was  a 
pipe  the  last  thing  in  the  morning  before  going  to  bed.  Omni- 
buses served  his  turn,  unless  some  urgent  busioeas  on  behalf  of 
bts  chief  demanded  a  hansom.  He  oonld  not  give  up  his  club ; 
for  that  was  in  a  way  a  political  institution ;  and  oftentimes  he 
had  to  rash  up  thither  to  find  some  one  who  was  not  in  the  pre- 
cincts of  St  Stephen's ;  bat  then,  on  the  other  hand,  in  a  good 
dub  things'  are  much  cheaper  than  in  any  restaurant  or  in  the 
members'  dining-room  of  the  House  of  Commons.  It  was  re- 
markable how  the  little  fortune  accumulated ;  and  it  was  a  kind 
of  unnsement  in  a  fashion.  He  pinched  himself — and  laughed. 
He  debated  mo»I  questions — for  example,  as  to  whether  it  were 
hiwfnl  to  use  dulnrtationery  m  writing  articles  for  newspapws; 
but  he  knew  sometiiing  of  the  ways  of  government  offices,  and 


KAKP  VACfi  OIUIO-BOTSTOin 


S0B 


•rstioDB  do  not 
e  other  baod,  is 
ler  with  all  the 
might  probably 
li  the  great  man. 
utile — the  mere 
>e  stated  that  he 
hard  work,  and 
t\  sach  Teriflcar 
ooks;  sncL.oon- 
t  was  all  hardly 
ell  he  knew  that 
who  woold  have 
i  year;  for  it  is 
iamentary  chiefs 
lings. 

terprises — which 
b  after  his  aecept- 
the  average,  an- 
ionsly  to  work  to 
}een  simple — and 
ise  and  the  effect 
9  he  allowed  him- 
r  way,  had  a  very 
he  was  boilding 
tence.    Food  and 
Bd  at  all,  it  was  a 
g  to  bed.    Omni- 
iness  on  behalf  of 
give  ophisclnb; 
ind  oftentimes  he 
ras  not  in  the  pre- 
3r  hand,  in  a  good 
9taarant  or  in  the 
mons.    It  was  re- 
and  it  was  a  kind 
wlf — and  langhed. 
to  whether  it  were 
H'B  for  newspiqpws; 
rnment  offices,  i|nd 


peiiiapB  hb  oonseienefl  was  salved  by  evil  example.  What  the 
manager  of  the  Westminster  Palace  Hotel  thoagbt  of  his  man- 
ner of  living  can  be  imagined — if  so  angust  an  official  cared  to 
inquire  into  such  details.  His  solitary  room,  breakfast,  and 
washing;  no  more;  those  were  small  bills  that  he  called  for 
week  by  week.  And  so  his  IttUe  hoard  of  capital  gradually 
angmented^-very  gradually,  it  is  true,  but  smely,  as  the  rate  of 
interest  on  deposits  rose  and  fell. 

In  the  meanwhile  Lord  Musselburgh  had  not  been  very  sue* 
eessfnl  in  his  endeavors  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation  between 
Yin  Harris  and  his  family ;  nor  had  he  been  able  to  obtain  the 
information  that  Vincent  demanded. 

"Yon  see,  Vin,"  he  sud  (th^y  were  again  walking  up  and 
down  the  lamp-lit  terrace,  by  the  side  of  the  deep-flowing  river), 
"  my  wife  is  awfully  upset  over  tiiis  afliair.  She  thinks  it  is  en- 
tirely owing  to  her  mismanagement  She  wonld.never  have  told 
you  about  the  £6000  if  she  had  not  been  certain  that  that  would 
be  conclusive  ftoot  to  yon  of  the  character  of  thode  two  people; 
and  now  that  she  sees  what  has  come  of  her  telling  yon  so  nmoh, 
she  is  afraid  to  tell  you  any  m<»e.  Not  that  I  suppose  there  is 
much  to  telL  Mr.  Betiume  and  Miss  Bethnne  are  no  longer  in 
this  country ;  but  I  doubt  whether  any  one  can  say  preeisely 
where  they  are — " 

■**  Nonsense  T*  Vincent  broke  in,  impatientiy.  "  They're  hwn- 
bugging  you,  Mnsselbuigk.  Consider  this  for  a  moment.  Do 
you  imsgine  that  George  Morris  handed  over  that  £6000,  as  A 
lump  sum,  without  making  stipulations,  and  very  definite  stipib- 
lations  f  Do  you.  imagine  he  would  be  content  to  take  the  word 
of  a  man  whom  he  considered  a  thief  t  It  is  absurd  to  think  sow 
Jh  utfofiioB  would  be  his  motto;  and  he  would  take  precious 
good  care  to  keep  control  over  the  money  in  case  of  non-fnlfit 
ment — ** 

<•  But  there  is  the  receipt  1"  put  in  Lord  Musselburgh. 

"A  receipt — for  theatrical  purposes T  said  Vincent,  with 
something  of  contempt  '*  You  may  depend  upon  it  the  money 
was  not  handed  over  in  that  unconditional  fashion;  thi^  is  not 
tlii  way  in  which  George  Morris  would  do  business.  He  has 
gol  some  hold  over  Mr.  Bethnne ;  and  he  ranitt  know  well  enough 
whwre  he  is.  Supposing  Mr.  Bethnne  had  that  money  in  his 
poeket,  what  is  to  prevent  bi«  letn.miiur  to  thi*  ooimtrT  l9-m9|w 


894 


ST  AMD   rAST,  OKAIO-BOTSTOIT I 


row  t  Where  would  be  the  penalty  for  his  breaking  his  cove- 
nant! Yon  don't  trust  a  man  whom  yon  consider  a  swindler; 
yon  most  have  some  goarantee ;  and  the  guarantee  mean«  that 
yon  must  be  able  to  get  at  him  when  you  choose.  It  stands  to 
reason  t" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so — it  would  seem  so,"  said  Lord  Mussel' 
burgh,  rather  doubtfully ;  "  but  at  all  erents  it  isn't  Oeoige 
Morris  who  is  going  to  open  bis  mouth.  I've  been  to  him ;  he 
declines ;  refers  me  to  your  family.  And  then,  yon  see,  Yin, 
I'm  in  rather  an  awkward  position.  I  don't  want  to  takw  sides ; 
I  don't  want  to  be  a  partisan ;  I  would  rather  act  as  the  friend 
of  all  of  you ;  but  the  moment  I  try  to  do  anything  I  am  met 
by  a  challenge — and  a  particularly  ineouTenient  challenge  it  is. 
Do  I  bolievo  with  them,  or  do  I  believe  with  you  t  I  told  your 
aunt  what  you  saiu  about  Mr.  Bethune — ^how  you  described  his 
character,  and  all  that ;  but  I  didn't  do  it  as  well  as  yon ;  for 
she  remains  unconvinced.  As  you  told  the  story,  it  seemed 
natural  and  plausible ;  but  as  I  told  it — and  I  was  conscious  of 
it  at  the  time — it  was  less  satisfactory.  And,-  mind  you,  if  yoo 
stick  to  hard  facts,  and  don't  allow  for  any  interpretation — ** 

"  If  you  look  through  the  blue  spectacles,  in  short — ^" 

*'  Precisely.  Well,  then,  yon  are  confrontecl  with  some  ex- 
tremely awkward  things.  I  don't  wonder  that  your  aunt  asks 
pertinently  why,  if  you  »re  to  begin  and  extend  this  liberal  con- 
stmctiob  of  conduct — this  allowing  for  motives — ^this  convenient 
doctrine  of  forgiving  everything  to  self-deception — I  don't  won- 
der that  she  asks  why  anybody  should  be  sent  to  prison  at  all." 

"  Oh,  as  lor  that,"  said  Vincent,  frankly, "  I  don't  say  it  would 
be  good  for  the  commonwealth  if  all  of  us  were  George  Be- 
thnnes.  Far  from  it  I  look  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  magnificent 
liMtM  naturm  ;  and  I  would  not  have  him  other  than  he  is — not 
in  any  one  particular.  But  a  nation  of  Gteorge  Bethuaest — it 
would  soon  strike  its  head  against  the  stars." 

**  Very  well,  then,"  said  his  friend,  "  yon  are  not  contending 
for  any  general  principle.  I  don't  see  why  you  and  your  family 
shouldn't  be  prepare!  to  agree.  You  may  both  of  yon  be  right 
Yon  don't  insist  upon  having  the  justifications  you  extend  to 
Mr.  Bethune  extended  to  every  one  elac,  or  to  any  one  else ;  yon 
make  him  the  exception ;  and  yon  needn't  quarrel  with  those 
who  take  a  more  literal  view  of  his  charuster," 


WPi 


•VAXD   tAgT,  OSAIO-ROTITOWl 


MB 


ikUng  bis  cove- 
der»  swindler; 
nt«e  mean*  that 
le.    It  sUnds  to 

id  Lord  MoMel- 
it  isn't  George 
been  to  him ;  he 
BD,  you  see,  Vin, 
At  to  Uku  sides; 
•ot  BB  the  friend 
lything  I  un  mat 
at  challenge  it  is. 
roa!    I  told  your 
you  described  his 
well  as  you;  for 
,  gtory,  it  seemed 
[  was  conscious  of 
I  mind  you,  if  you 
terpretation— " 
a  short — 
e^  with  some  ex- 
ut  your  aunt  asks 
id  this  liberal  con- 
M — ^this  convenient 
>tion — I  don't  won- 
nt  to  prison  at  all." 
don't  say  it  would 
s  were  George  Be- 
sort  of  magnificent 
her  than  he  is— not 
orge  BethunesI— it 
It 

are  not  contending 
^ou  and  your  family 
loth  of  you  be  right 
itions  you  extend  to 
io  any  one  else ;  you 
i  quarrel  with  those 


<*  Literal  r*  said  Vincent,  with  a  certain  coldness.  **  Blind- 
ness— want  of  consideration — want  of  understanding — is  that  to 
be  literal  t  Perhaps  it  is.  But  I  thought  you  said  somothing 
just  now  about  Mr.  Bethune  and  a  prison ;  will  yon  tell  me  of 
any  one  action  of  his  that  would  suggest  imprisonment  f 

"Your  aunt  was  merely  talking  of  theories,"  said  Mussel- 
burgh, rather  uneasily,  for  he  had  not  intended  to  use  the 
phrase.  "  What  I  urge  is  this — why  shouldn't  both  of  you  ad< 
mit  that  there^may  be  something  in  the  other's  view  of  Mr.  Be- 
thune, and  agree  to  differ  t  I  stand  between  yon :  I  can  see 
how  much  can  be  .idvanced  on  both  sides." 

**  And  so  you  would  patch  up  a  truce,"  said  Vincent  '*  How 
long  would  it  lastt  Of  course  I  do  not  know  for  what  period 
of  banishment  my  kind  relatives  stipulated;  £5000  is  a  con- 
siderable sum  to  pay ;  I  suppose  they  bargained  that  Mr.  Be- 
thune and  his  granddaughter  should  remain  away  from'  England 
for  some  time.  But  not  forever  f  Even  then,  is  it  to  be  im 
agined  that  they  cannot  be  found  f  .  Either  in  this  country  or 
abroad.  Bliss  Bethune  and  I  meet  face  to  face  again ;  and  she 
becomes  my  wife — I  hope.  It  is  what  I  live  for.  And  then  1 
Where  will  your  patched-up  truce  be  then  t  Besides,  1  don'lt 
want  any  sham  friendships  with  people  who  have  acted  as  they 
have  done — ^" 

"  It  was  in  your  interest,  Vin,"  his  friend  again  urged.  "  Why 
not  give  them  a  little  of  the  lenient  judgment  you  so  freely  ex- 
tend to  those  others — " 

•*To  those  others r'  replied  Vincent,  firing  up  hotly.  "To 
whomf 

«  To  Mr.  Bethune,  then,"  was  the  pacific  reply. 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Bethune  ever  consciously  wronged  auy 
human  being.  But  they — were  they  not  aware  what  they  were 
doing  when  they  played  this  ucderhand  trick  t — sending  that 
girl  out  iato  the  world  again,  through  her  devotion  to  her  grand- 
fatbert  I  have  told,  you  before :  there  is  no  use  crying  peace, 
pease,  when  there  is  no  peace.  Let  them  undo  some  of  the 
mischief  they  have  done,  first ;  then  we  will  see/'  And  look  at 
this  silly  affectation  of  secrecy  1  They  told  me  too  much  when 
they  told  me  they  had  pud  money  to  get  George  Bethune  out 
of  the  country;  then  I  understood  why  Maisrie  went;  then  I 
knew  I  must  have  patience  until  she  came  back — in  the  same 


8M 


■TAVD  FAST,  OKAIO^BOTITOV  I 


mind  as  when  ahe  left,  that  I  know  well.  I  waa  pauled  jefore, 
and  sometimea  anilona ;  bat  now  I  nnderatand ;  now  1  am  con- 
tent to  wait  And  I  have  plenty  to  do  in  the  meantime.  I 
hare  to  gain  a  proper  foothold — and  make  some  proviaion  for 
the  future  aa  well ;  alk-eady  I  am  independent  of  anybody  and 
everybody.  And  perhaps,  in  time  to  come,  when  it  is  all  over, 
when  all  these  things  have  been  set  right,  I  may  be  able  to  fo^ 
give ;  bat  I  shall  not  be  able  to  forget" 

This  waa  all  the  measage  that  Lord  Masselbargh  had  to  take 
home  with  him,  to  his  wife's  profound  distress.  For  ahe  was 
very  fond  of  her  nephew,  and  very  proud  of  him,  too,  and  of 
the  position  he  had  ajready  won  for  himself ;  and  what  she  had 
done  she  had  done  with  the  best  intentions  towards  him.  Once, 
indeed,  she  confessed  to  her  husband  that  in  spite  of  herself  she 
bad  a  aort  of  sneaking  admiration  for  Vincent's  obdurate  con- 
sistenoy  ilnd  faith ;  insomuch  (she  said)  that — if  only  the  old 
man  and  all  his  chicaneries  were  oat  of  the  way — she  coald  al- 
most find  it  in  her  heart  to  try  to  like  the  girl,  for  Vincent's 
sake. 

"  The  real  question,"  she  continued, "  the  thing  that  concerns 
me  most  of  all  to  think  of  is  this :  can  a  girl  who  has  been  so 
dragged  through  the  mire  have  retained  her  parity  of  mind  and 
her  proper  self-respect  f  Surely  she  roust  have  known  that  her 
grandfather  was  wheedling  people  out  of  money  right  and  left 
-—and  that  he  took  her  about  with  him  to  enlist  sympathy  t  Do 
you  euppose  she  was  not  perfectly  aware  that  Vincent  invariably 
paid  the  bills  at  those  restaurants  t  When  tradespeople  were 
pressing  for  money,  do  you  fancy  slie  was  in  ignorance  all  the 
time  f  Very  well ;  what  a  life  for  any  one  to  lead  I  How  enuM 
she  hold  np  her  head  among  ordinarily  honest  and  solvent  peo> 
pie  t  Bven  aopposing  that  she  herself  was  all  she  oaght  to  be, 
the  humiliation  must  have  sunk  deep.  And  even  if  one  were  to 
try  to  like  her,  there  would  always  be  that  con8<iionsness  be- 
tween her  and  you.  You  m^ht  be  sorry  for  her,  in  a  kind  of 
way;  but  you  would  be  still  sorrier  for  Vincent;  and  that  woald 
be  dreadful"  ^ 

"My  dear  Madge,"  her  husband  said — in  his  character  of 
mediator  and  peacemaker,  "  you  are  arguing  on  a  series  of  as- 
snmptionB  and  prejadices.  If  Vin  does  hold  en  to  his  faith  in 
those  two— and  if  ho  does  in  the  end  many  Miss  Betban««-Z 


ITAin>   VA8T,  0RAIO-B0TITO«  I 


m 


pnuled  jcfore, 
now  1  am  oon< 
e  meantime.  I 
le  provision  for 
of  anybody  and 
en  it  is  M  over, 
f  be  able  to  for- 

irgh  had  to  tak» 
For  ahe  was 

him,  too,  and  of 
nd  what  Bh«  had 
ards  him.  Once, 
»ite  of  herself  she 
t's  obdurate  con- 
-4f  only  the  dd 
ly — she  conld  al- 
;irl,  for  Vincent's 

ling  that  conoems 
who  has  been  so 
arity  of  mind  and 
re  known  that  her 
ney  right  and  left 
Bt  sympathy  t   Do 
Vincent  invariably 
tradespeople  were 
k  ignorance  all  the 
lead  1   How  conld 
It  and  solvent  peo- 
kll  she  onght  to  be, 
iven  if  one  were  to 
consdionsness  he- 
ir her,  in  a  kind  of 
nt;  and  that  would 

D  his  character  of 
i;  on  a  series  of  as- 
1  en  to  his  faiUi  in 
y  Miss  Betbane—2 


shall  comfort  myself  wi^  the  conviction  that  he  was  likely  to 
know  more  about  them  than  anybody  else.  He  and  they  have 
been  on  terms  of  closest  intimacy,  and  for  a  long  time ;  and  yon 
may  be  pretty  sure  that  the  girl  Vin  wants  to  marry  is  no  tar* 
nidied  kind  of  person — in  his  eyes." 

"  Ah,  yes — in  his  eyes  t"  said  Lady  Musselbnigh,  rather  sadly. 

"  Well,  his  eyes  are  as  clear  as  most  folks' — at  least,  I've  gen- 
erally found  them  so,"  her  husband  said — trying  what  a  little 
vague  optimum  weald  do. 

One  afternoon  Vincent  was  walking  along  Piccadilly—- end 
walking  rapidly,  ss  was  his  wont,  for  the  twin  purposes  of  exer* 
ciae  and  econo.  ny — when  he  saw,  some  way  ahead  of  him.  Lady 
Musselbnigh  c  ossing  the  pavement  to  her  carriage.  She  saw 
him,  too,  and  stopped— color  mounting  to  her  face.  When  he 
came  up  he  uierely  lifted  bis  hat,  and  would  have  kept  on  bis 
way  but  that  she  addressed  bim. 

"  Vincent  t"  she  said,  in  an  appealing,  half-reproaohf nl  fashion. 
^  And  then  she  sud, 

:**1  want  you  to  come  into  the  house  for  a  few  minutes— 1 
must  speak  with  yon." 

"  Is  there  any  use  f"  he  asked,  rather  coldly. 

However,  she  was  very  much  embarrassed,  as  her  heightened 
color  showed ;  and  he  could  not  keep  her  standing  there  in  Pic- 
cadilly ;  he  said  "  Very  well,"  and  followed  her  up  the  steps  and 
into  tiie  house.  When  they  had  got  into  tbo  drawiug4Y>om  she 
shut  the  door  behind  them,  and  began  at  once — with  not  a  little 
piteous  agitatjon  in  her  manner : 

"  Vin,  this  is  too  dreadful  1  Can  nothing  be  done  f  Why 
are  you  so  implacable  t  I  suppose  you  don't  understand  what 
yon  have  been  to  me,  always,  and  how  I  have  looked  to  yonr 
future  as  something  almost  belonging  io  me,  something  that  I 
\ftm  to  be  proud  of;  and  now  that  it  is  all  likely  to  come  true* 
yon  go  and  make  a  stranger  of  yourself !  When  I  see  yoor 
name  in  the  papers,  or  hear  you  spoken  of  at  a  dinner-table— U 
is  somo  one  who  is  distant  from  me,  as  if  I  had  no  conoem  with 
him  any  longer.  People  come  up  to  me  and  say,  *  Oh,  I  heard 
yonr  nephew  speak  at  the  Mansion  House  the  other  afternoon,' 
or, '  I  met  yonr  nephew  at  the  Foreign  Office  last  night ;'  and  I 
oaanot  say,  *  Don't  yon  know ;  he  has  gone  and  made  himself  a 
stranger  to  us  f — ** 


808 


•TAHD   rABT,  OKAIO-BOTSTOX ! 


"  I  wonder  who  it  wm  who  made  •  stranger  of  me  T  be  int«^ 
posed — but  quite  impassivelj. 

"  I  cim  only  say,  again  and  again,  that  it  waa  done  for  the 
beat,  Yin  I"  she  answered  him.  *'  The  mistake  I  made  was  in 
lettiiig  you  know.  But  I  took  it  for  granted  that  as  soon  as  yov 
were  told  that  those  people  had  accepted  money  from  ua  to  go 
away — " 

"  Those  people  f  What  people  f '  he  demanded,  with  a  sterner 
air. 

"  Oh,  I  njoa  it  only  Mr.  Bethune  himsel',"  said  she,  hastily. 
^  Oh,  yes,  certainly,  only  him ;  there  were  no  negotiations  with 
any  one  else." 

"  Negotiations !"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  scorn.  "  Well,  per- 
haps yon  can  toll  me  what  tLose  negotiations  were  f  How  long 
did  Mr.  Bethune  undertake  to  remain  out  of  this  country  t" 

'*  Three  years,  Yin,"  said  abe,  timidly  regarding  him. 

"Three  years f  he  repeated,  in  an  aosent  way. 

"  But  there  is  ..o  reason,"  she  added,  quickly, "  why  he  should 
not  return  at  any  moment  if  ho  wishes — so  I  understand — of 
course,  I  did  not  make  the  arrangement — but  I  believe  that  is  so," 

"  Return  at  any  moment  f"  ho  said,  slowly.  '*  Do  yon  mean 
to  tell  me  that  you  put  £6000  into  that  old  man's  luinds,  on 
oondltioc  he  should  leare  the  country  for  three  years,  and  that 
•II  the  same  you  left  him  free  to  return  at  any  moment  V 

"Of  course  he  wculd  forfeit  the  money,"  said  she,  rather 
nervously. 

"  But  how  could  he  forfeit  the  money  if  he  already  baa  it  f 
He  has  got  the  money — yon  showed  me  the  receipt  Come, 
aunt,"  said  he,  in  quite  a  different  tone,  "  let  us  be  a  little  more 
honest  and  above-board.  Shall  I  tell  you  how  1  read  the  whole 
situation  t  You  can  conLri>dict  m^  if  I  am  wrong.  But  that  re- 
ceipt yon  showed  me — wasn't  it  produced  for  merely  theatrical 
pwposea  t  Wasn't  it  m^nt  to  crush  and  overwhelm  me  as  a 
piece  of  t^ddencet  The  money  wasnH  har^ded  over  like  that, 
was  itf  Supposing  I  wer*»  to  coajecture  thsi  somebody  repre- 
sentv  g  you  or  repreaonti*'  '  my  father  has  btill  got  control  over 
th«t  iuoney;  and  tb  u.  It  is  to  t»  paid  in  instalment  as  it  is 
earned — Ly  absence  f    Weil,  isn't  that  so  t" 

He  fixed  Li^.  eyes  on  iier;  she  hei*itated- 
confused. 


rod  was  a  little 


mmm 


tTAWn  FAtT,  OBAIG-BOTSTOiri 


899 


me  r  be  intor^ 

m  4one  for  the 
I  made  w«a  in 
t  as  soon  as  jov 
y  from  lU  to  go 

d,  with  a  Btemor 

lid  she,  hastily, 
egotiations  with 

m.    "  Well,  per- 
Diret    How  long 
IS  country  I" 
ng  him. 

"  why  he  should 
understand — of 

lelieve  that  is  so." 
mDo  you  mean 

roan's  Iiands,  on 

0  years,  and  that 

moment !" 
said  she,  rather 

already  has  itt 
receipt.     Come, 

be  a  little  more 
1  read  the  whole 
ng.  But  that  re- 
moreiy  theatrical 
erwhelm  me  as  a 
over  like  that, 

somcbodjr^  repre- 

got  control  over 
stalments  as  it  is 

—and  was  a  little 


**  I  tell  you,  Viu,"  she  mid,  "  I  hod  personally  nothing  to  do 
with  making  the  arrangement ;  all  tliat  was  left  in  George  Mor- 
ris's hands ;  and,  of  course,  he  would  take  whatever  precautions 
he  thought  necessary.  And  why  should  you  talk  about  theatri- 
cal purposes  1  I  really  did  tbiak  that,  when  I  could  «hsvr  you 
Mr.  Bethnne  was  ready  to  take  mone,>  from  strange/s  to  go  awsy 
from  Enghind,  you  would  change  your  opinion  of  him.  But  ap- 
parently, in  your  eyes,  ha  can  do  no  wrong.  He  is  not  to  be 
judged  by  ordinary  rules  and  standards.  Everything  is  to  be 
twisted  about  on  hia  behalf,  and  forgiven,  or  even  admired. 
Nobody  else  is  allowed  such  latitude  of  construction ;  and  every- 
thing is  granted  to  him — because  he  is  Qeorgo  Bethune.  But  I 
don^t  think  it  is  quite  fair ;  or  that  you  should  take  sides  against 
your  own  family." 

This  was  an  adroit  stroke,  following  npon  a  very  clever  at- 
tempt to  extricate  herself  from  an  embairaasing  posit:on;  but 
his  thoughts  were  otherwise  occupied. 

"I  should  like  you  to  tell  me,"  said  he,  "if  you  can,  what 
moral  wrong  was  invoive<l  in  Mr.  Bethune's  consenting  to  accept 
that  money.  Where  was  i,ho  harm— or  the  ignominy  t  Do  yon 
think  I  cannot  guess  at  the  representations  and  inducements  put 
before  him,  to  get  him  to  stay  abroad  for  throe  years  t  Why,  I 
could  almost  tell  you,  word  'or  word,  what  was  said  to  him  I 
Here  was  an  arrangement  that  would  be  of  incalculable  benefit 
to  ever/body  concerned.  He  would  be  healing  up  family  dis* 
sensioos.  He  wo  aid  be  guarding  his  granddaughter  from  a  mar* 
riage  that  could  only  bring  her  disappointment  and  hnmiliation. 
Three  years  of  absence  and  forgetfulncss  would  put  an  end  to 
all  those  projects.  And  then,  of  course,  you  oonld  not  ask  him 
to  throw  up  his  literary  engagements  and  incur  the  expense  of 
travel  without  some  compensation.  Hero  is  a  sura  of  £0000, 
which  will  afford  him  some  kind  ol:  security,  in  view  of  this  dis- 
turbanoe  of  his  engagements.  A  i-eceipt!  ch,  yes,  a  receipt,  if 
necessary !  Bat  then,  again,  on  second  thoughts,  wouldn't  it 
only  be  pmdbnt  to  lodge  this  £6000  with  some  third  person, 
seme  man  of  position,  whom  all  could  trust,  and  who  would  send 
it  m  instalments,  to  avoid  the  risk  of  carrying  so  large  •  Hum 
about  with  ono  !  There  might  be  a  little  harmless  condition  or 
two  attached,  tioreover.  Yon  undertake,  for  example,  that  the 
young  people  shall  not  have  communication  with  each  other; 


-.r^- 


490 


itAMt  VAOT,  oBAio-Bornoai 


yoa  My  your  gnuidd«ightor  will  do  m  yon  wlrii  in  all  things. 
Very  w«U,  teke  her  away ;  dimppoar,  both  of  yoa  ;  yoa  are  do- 
ing ua  an  immenee  kindnen,  and  yoa  are  acting  in  the  beat  in- 
teresta  of  all  concerned.  Never  mind  a  little  tniaery  here  or 
there,  or  the  riak  of  a  broken  heart ;  we  can  afford  to  pay  for 
iach  things ;  we  can  afford  to  have  the  moulds  of  a  dessert-ser> 
vice  destroyed — and  a  little  matter  of  jCSOOO  u  not  much,  when 
we  have  plans.  .  .  .  And  so  those  two  go  out  into  the  world 
again."  He  paused  for  a  second.  '*  Well,  aunt,  you've  had  your 
way ;  and  there's  no  more  to  be  said,  eicept  this,  perhaps,  that 
you  don't  seem  to  realise  the  greatest  of  all  the  mistakes  yon 
have  made.  Your  three  years,  even  if  they  should  be  three 
years  of  absence,  will  not  be  years  of  forgetfulness  on  either 
Maisrie  Bethuno's  part  or  mine.  Oh,  no ;  nothing  of  the  kind ; 
don",  cherish  any  illusions  on  that  score.  It  happened  curiooaly 
that  just  before  they  loft  Brighton  she  and  I  had  a  little  tolk 
over  one  or  two  things ;  and  aha  asked  me  for  a  promise,  which 
I  gave  her,  and  which  I  mean  to  keep." 

Well,  the  handsome  lad  now  standing  before  her  had  a  great 
hold  on  her  affection ;  and  ahe  even  admired,  in  a  covert  way, 
this  very  bigotry  of  constancy  and  unswerving  faith  of  his,  so 
that,  for  an  instant,  her  head  swam,  and  she  was  on  the  point  of 
crying  oat, "  Vincent — ^Vincent — go  and  bring  her  to  me — and 
I  will  take  her  to  my  heart — for  your  sake  1"  But  the  next  mo- 
ment she  bad  recovered  from  that  mad  impulse ;  she  saw  that 
what  had  been  done  was  not  to  be  undone  in  that  happy-go- 
lucky  fashion,  even  if  it  could  be  undone  at  all;  and  she  was 
filent  and  embarrassed.     It  was  he  who  spoke. 

"  Well,  you  must  excuse  me,  aunt ;  I've  to  be  down  at  the 
House  by  question-time." 

*'  You're  not  going  like  (hat,  Vin  1"  she  exclaimed. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  f '  he  asked,  in  a  coldly  civil  way. 

'*  I— I — want  yon  to  be  as  you  once  were,  to  all  of  as,"  she 
cried,  rather  incoherently.  "  I  want  you  to  go  back  to  Qtomewx 
Place ;  and  to  accept  the  sU'Jwance  your  father  has  made  you 
ever  sin^w  yoa  came  of  age ;  and  to  resume  the  old  byf.-'ne  re- 
lations with  us.  Surely  it  might  bo  possible,  with  a  liUl)  oon- 
sideration  on  both  sides.  What  we  have  done  was  done  entirely 
out  of  tboughtfulness  for  yoa ;  and  if  we  have  made  a  mistake 
—we  are  only  human  beings  I    And  remember,  it  is  quite  paui- 


■TAiiD  FAST,  oiuio-aomo>i 


401 


1  in  an  things, 
o ;  yoa  vf  do- 
in  ihe  bMi  in- 

uKMry  h«w  or 
ford  to  pay  «or 
of  n  dsBwrt-aw- 
not  much,  when 
;  into  the  world 
you've  had  yoor 
lis,  perhape,  that 
he  miaUkea  yon 
should  be  three 
fulneM  on  either 
ling  of  the  kind; 
ppened  curioualy 

had  a  little  tnlk 
' »  promise,  which 

ro  her  had  a  great 
,  in  a  covert  way, 
ig  fiuth  of  hia,  so 
ag  on  the  point  of 
g  her  to  roe— and 

But  the  next  mo- 
ilse ;  she  saw  that 
in  that  happy-go- 

nll;  and  she  was 

e. 
be  ^own  at  the 

sbdmed. 

a  coldly  civil  way. 
J,  to  all  of  ns,"  she 
,  back  to  Gfosfenor 
ther  has  made  yon 
the  old  byf.  TO  re- 
e,  with  ft  liUi*  con- 
le  was  done  entirely 
•re  made  a  mistato 


ble  that  yon  may  be  mistaken,  too,  Vin ;  yon  may  be  mistaken 
just  as  mnch  ss  we— and — and — " 

"  Whnt  yon  propose,  aunt,"  B«id  7'.e  (for  time  was  precious 
with  him), "  even  if  it  were  practicable,  would  only  bo  temporary, 
I  am  looking  forward  to  marrying  Maisrie  Bethune — in  spite  of 
your  three  years  of  forgetf ulneaa  I  —  and  when  that  happens, 
your  patohed-up  state  of  aflairs  would  all  come  to  bits  again. 
So  what  is  the  use  of  profesaing  a  sort  of  eham  reconciliation  I 
I  hare  no  wish  to  return  to  Orosvenor  Place.  I  have  taken  some 
rooms  at  the  foot  of  Bnckingham  Street ;  and  1  have  a  key  that 
lets  me  through  by  the  Embankment  gardens  into  Villiers  Street; 
it  will  be  convenient  for  getting  to  the  House.  And  I  can  tide 
along  pretty  well  without  any  allowance  from  my  father ;  in  fact, 
Fm  saving  a  little  money  in  a  quiet  way — " 

**  But  at  what  a  cost,  Vincent — at  what  a  cost !"  aht  protested. 
**  I  wish  you  could  see  how  worn  and  ill  you  are  looking — " 

**  Well,  I've  had  some  things  to  think  of  lately — thanks  to  my 
kind  rMatives  1"  said  he.    "  But  really  I  must  be  off—" 

"  Vincent,"  she  said,  making  one  last  despairing  effort  to  bring 
things  back  to  their  former  footing,  *'  when  are  you  going  to  ask 
Louie  Drexel  and  me  to  dine  with  yon  at  the  House  f ' 

*'  I'm  so  busy,  aunt,  just  now,"  said  he,  as  be  opened  the  door 
for  her.  Th  ju  he  saw  her  into  her  carriage ;  and  she  drove  away 
— a  most  perplexed  and  unhappy  woman. 

These  rooms  that  Vincent  had  taken  at  the  foot  of  Bucking- 
ham Street  were  right  up  at  the  top  of  the  building,  and  com> 
manded  a  spacious  prospect  of  the  river,  the  Embankment  gar- 
dens, the  bridges,  tiie  great  dnaky  world  o'  London  lying  all 
around,  and  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  rising  dim  and  pbantMmal 
in  the  east  They  were  bachelor  chambers,  that  had  donbtlMs 
seen  many  tenants  (the  name  of  one,  George  Brand,  was  still 
over  the  door^  and  Vincent  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  change 
it),  but  the  young  man  had  no  sooner  entered  into  posses- 
sion than  he  began  a  series  of  alterations  and  improvement';  that 
bachelor  chambers  did  not  seem  to  demand.  Not  in  any  hurry, 
however ;  nor  perhaps  with  any  iixed  intent ;  it  was  a  kind  of 
amusement  for  this  or  that  odd  half-hour  he  could  snatch  from 
his  multifarious  duties.  To  begin  with,  he  had  the  woodwork 
painted  a  deep  Indian  red,  and  the  widls  a  peariy-blne  gray ; 
while  th»  fcrmer  eolor  was  repeated  in  the  Japanese  window 
26 


y 


40t 


•ffAire  VAiT,  oRAio-aoTarovi 


curtains,  and  the  Uttar  by  th«  great  world  oateide,  on  the  lain« 
bent  moonlight  uighta,  or  eometiniei  in  the  awakening  of  the 
dawn,  aa  be  lay  in  a  low  eaaj-chair,  and  watched  the  vast,  silent 
citj  oociing  out  of  its  sleep.  This  top-floor  was  a  vorj  still 
plaee,  eioept  for  the  early  chattering  of  the  tree-sparrows,  into 
whose  nests,  swaying  on  the  branches  just  beneath  him,  he 
could  have  tossed  a  biscuit.  And  then  his  peregrinations  through 
London,  rapid  though  the}  were  as  a  rule,  occasionally  bronght 
him  face  to  face  with  a  bric-i-brao  shop ;  and  from  time  to  time 
he  pieked  up  one  thing  or  another,  just  as  it  happened  ta  strike 
his  fancy.  Perhaps  these  modeat  purchases  were  jast  a  trifle  too 
elegant  for  a  bvchelor's  apartments ;  the  sitting-room  away  np 
in  that  'oft)  uituation  came  to  look  rather  like  a  boudoir ;  for 
example,  there  was  a  music-stand  in  rosewood  and  orronlu — a 
tall  stand  H  was,  as  if  for  a  violin  player  —  which  he  himself 
never  used.  Pictures  he  could  not  aSord ;  but  books  he  could ; 
and  the  volumes  which  were  one  by  one  added  to  those  shelves 
were  of  a  more  graceful  and  literary  stamp  than  rou  would  have 
expect^  to  tind  in  the  library  of  a  young  and  busy  member  of 
Parliament  It  was  not  a  lordly  palace  of  art,  this  humble  suite 
of  apartments  in  the  nfigbborhood  of  the  Strand  ;  but  there  waa 
a  prevailing  air  of  seletliun  and  good  tuste;  perhaps,  one  ought 
to  say,  of  expectancy,  also,  in  the  presence  of  things  not  yet  in 
use.  Then  the  two  large  and  low  windows  of  the  sitting-room 
were  all  surrounded  with  ivy,  of  long  training ;  but,  besides  that, 
there  were  flower-boxes ;  and  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  at  small 
expense,  these  oould  l>e  filled  with  potted  geraniums,  if  one 
wished  to  be  gay.  Aud  aiwaya  outside  was  the  varied  pano- 
rama of  the  mighty  city ;  the  wide  river  and  the  bridges,  the 
spires  and  the  towerH,  tho  far  massen  of  bnildings  becoming  more 
and  more  spectral  aa  they  receded  into  the  gray  and  wavering 
mist.  Sometimes  the  rose  and  saffron  of  the  dawn  were  there, 
ascending  with  a  soft  suffurion  behind  the  purple  dome  of  St. 
Paul'  ;  sometimes  there  ware  blowy  and  breexy  days,  with  fly- 
'ing  blowers  and  watery  gleams  of  sunlight ;  and  sometimes  the 
night  lay  blue  and  still  and  clear,  tho  Surrey  side  in  black  and 
mysterious  shadow,  the  whi<«  moon  high  in  the  south.  These 
silent  altitudes  were  a  fine  place  for  dreaming,  after  all  the  toil 
and  moil  of  the  working-hours  were  over ;  and  a  fine  place  for 
listening,  too;  aometimes,  towards  the  morning,  joit  aa  the 


atf  ide,  on  the  Um* 
•wakening  of  the 
bed  the  vMt,  illent 
or  WM  »  »ery  rtiU 
troe-iparw>we,  Into 
it  beneftth  hlni,  he 
egrinatlone  through 
iccMionnlly  brought 
d  from  time  to  time 
t  happened  to  atrike 
were  just  a  trifle  too 
Itting-room  away  up 
like  a  boudoir ;  for 
ood  and  orninlu — » 
—  which  he  himaelf 
but  booka  he  could ; 
Ided  to  thoae  ahelrea 
than  3">u  would  hare 
and  busy  member  of 
art,  this  humble  suite 
Itrand;  but  there  waa 
;  perhaps,  one  ought 
of  things  not  yet  in 
ra  of  the  sitting-room 
ng;  but,  besides  that, 
'«  notice,  and  at  small 
ed  geraniums,  if  one 
waa  the  varied  psno- 
and  the  bridges,  the 
ildinRS  becoming  more 
he  gr»y  snd  wavering 
the  dawn  were  there, 
le  purple  dome  of  St. 
breesy  days,  with  fly- 
it;  and  sometimes  the 
rrey  side  in  black  »nd 
I  in  the  south.    Thew 
ming,  after  all  the  toU 
f;  and  a  fine  place  for 

morning,  Jost  •»  «ke 


■TAirD  TAWf,  OBAIO-BOmOiri 


4(M 


Imvos  began  to  stir,  you  could  fancy  the  wind  waa  bringlBg  a 
message  with  it— it  seemed,  coming  from  far  away,  to  say  som«> 
thing  about  "Claire  FonUino." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


m  A  NORTHIRN  VILLAOI. 


But  there  were  to  be  no  three  years  of  absence,  atill  Ism  of 
forgetfniness.  One  afternoon,  on  Vincent's  going  down  to  tho 
House,  ho  found  a  telegram  along  with  his  letters.  He  opened 
it  mechanically,  little  thinking ;  but  the  next  nioment  his  eyes 
wore  staring  with  amazement  For  these  were  tlie  words  he  saw 
before  him :  "  Orattd/atlur  very  Hi ;  vxmid  likt  to  tH  pou, 
Maitru  Btthuiu,  Cro$amain$,  by  Cupar.^'  Then  through  hm 
bowilderment  there  flashed  the  sudden  thought,  why,  the  lands 
of  Balloray  were  up  in  that  Fifeshire  region ;  had,  then,  the  old 
nuin,  tirod  of  hia  world-wanderings,  and  feeling  this  illness  com- 
ing upon  him,  had  he  at  length  crept  home  to  die,  perhaps  as  a 
floal  protest  t  And  Maisrie  was  alone  there,  among  strangers, 
with  this  weight  of  trouble  fallen  upon  her.  Why  conld  not 
those  intervening  hours,  and  the  long  night,  and  the  great  dis- 
tance, be  at  once  annihiUted  t-^he  saw  Maisrie  waiting  for  him, 
with  piteous  eyes  and  outstretched  hands. 

He  never  could  afterwards  recall  with  any  accuracy  how  he 
paaaod  those  hours;  it  all  seemed  a  dream.  And  a  dream  it 
seemed  next  day,  when  he  found  himself  in  a  d(^-cart,  driving 
throngh  a  plaoi(S  and  smiling  country,  with  the  sweet  samoMr 
air  blowing  all  around  him.  He  talked  to  the  driver,  to  free  his 
mind  from  anxious  and  futile  forecasts.  CroSsmains,  he  was  in- 
formed, was  a  small  place.  Tboro  was  but  the  one  inn  in  it — 
the  Balloray  Arms.  Most  likely,  if  two  strangers  were  to  arrive 
on  a  visit,  they  would  put  up  at  the  inn ;  but  very  few  people 
did  go  throngh — ^perhaps  an  occasional  commercial  traveller. 

"  And  where  is  Balloray  House— or  Balloray  Castle  f  was  the 
next  question. 

"Just  in  there,  sir,"  sdd  the  man,  with  a  jerk  of  his  whip 
towards  the  woods  past  which  they  were  driving. 


^■.iaaMHMiaMMiUiikiM*MMH<M 


404 


STAND    FAST,  CRAIQ-BOTBT0N> 


And  of  coarse  it  was  with  »  great  interest  and  cariosity  that 
Vincent  looked  out  for  this  place  of  vhich  he  had  beard  m> 
much.  At  present  nothing  could  be  seen  bat  the  high  atone 
"nrall  that  surrounds  so  many  Scotch  estates ;  and,  branching  over 
that,  a  magnificent  row  of  beeches ;  but  by-aud-by  they  came 
to  a  clearing  in  the  "  policies ;"  and  all  at  once  the  castle  ap- 
peared in  sight — a  tall,  rectangular  building,  with  a  battlementcd 
parapet  and  corner  turrets,  perched  on  a  spacious  and  lofty  pla- 
teau. It  'ooked  more  modem  than  he  had  imagined  to  himself ; 
but  perhaps  it  had  been  recently  renovated.  From  the  flag-staff 
overtopping  the  highest  of  the  turrets  a  flag  idly  drooped  and 
swung  in  the  blue  of  the  summer  sky  ;  no  doubt  the  proprietor 
was  at  home — in  proud  possession  ;  while  the  old  man  who  con- 
sidered himself  ihe  rightful  owner  of  the  place  was  lying,  p^^■ 
haps  stricken  unto  death,  in  some  adjacent  cottage  o**  village  inn. 
Then  the  woods  closed  round  again  \  and  the  mansion  of  Balio- 
ray  was  lost  to  view. 

Vincent  was  not  in  search  of  the  picturesque,  or  he  might 
have  been  disappointed  with  this  village  of  Crossmains — which 
consisted  of  but  one  long  and  wide  thoroughfare,  bordered  on 
each  hand  with  "i  row  of  bare  and  mean-looking  cottages  and  in- 
significant houses.  When  they  drove  up  to  the  inn,  he  did  not 
noUce  that  it  was  a  small,  two-storied,  drab-hoed  building  of  the 
most  commonplace  appearance;  *bat  was  not  what  he  was  think- 
ing of  at  fill ;  his  heart  was  beating  high  with  emotion- — what 
wonder  might  not  meet  his  eager  gaze  at  any  instant  ?  And,  in- 
deed, he  had  hardly  entered  the  little  stone  passage  when  Maisrie 
appeared  before  him ;  she  had  heard  the  vehicle  arrive,  and  had 
quickly  come  down-stairs ;  and  now  she  stood  qaite  speechless — 
her  trembling,  warm  hands  clasped  in  his,  her  face  upturned  to 
him.  her  beautiful  sad  eyes  all  dimmed  with  tears,  and  yet  hav- 
ing a  kind  of  joy  in  them,  too,  and  pride.  She  could  not  say  a 
single  word ;  he  would  have  to  understand  that  she  was  grateful 
tc  him  for  his  instant  response  to  her  appeal.  And,  perhaps, 
there  was  more  than  gratitude ;  she  seemed  to  hunger  to  look  at 
him — for  she  had  not  seen  him  for  so  long  a  while ;  perhaps  she 
had  never  thought  to  see  him  again. 

"  Hiive  yon  any  better  news,  Maisrie  ?"  said  he. 

She  turned  and  led  the  way  into  a  little  parlor. 

"Yes,"  said  she  (and  the  soond  of  her  voice  startled  him; 


1  curiosity  thftt 
5  had  heard  ao 
the  high  stone 
,  branching  over 
d-by  they  came 
se  the  castle  ap- 
1  a  battlementcd 
8  and  lofty  pla- 
ined to  himself ; 
om  the  flag-staff 
ily  drooped  and 
>t  the  proprietor 
lid  man  who  con- 
e  was  lying,  p^r- 
ge  or  village  inn. 
lansion  of  Bailo- 

|ue,  or  he  might 
ossmains — which 
[are,  bordered  on 
;  cottages  and  in- 
le  inn,  he  did  not 
d  building  of  the 
hat  he  was  think- 
h  emotion — what 
insUnti    And,  in- 
sage  when  Maiarie 
;le  arrive,  and  had 
(juite  speechless — 
r  face  upturned  to 
tears,  and  yet  hav- 
be  could  not  say  a 
it  she  was  grateful 
al.     And,  perhaps, 
>  hunger  to  look  at 
while ;  perhaps  she 

he. 
urlor. 
roice  startled  him? 


■TijrD  VAST,  CBAIO-BOrSTOVI 


405 


tli«  Maisrie  of  his  many  dreams,  sleeping  and  waking,  had  been 
all  so  silent!).  "Grandfather  is  rather  better.  I  think  he  is 
asleep  now — or  almost  asleep.  It  is  a  fever — a  nervous  fever— 
and  he  has  been  n6  ezfaansted — and  often  delirious;  but  he  n 
quieter  now — rest  is  everjrthing— " 

t  «  Maisrie,"  he  said  again,  in  his  bewilderment, "  it  is  a  wondef* 
ful  thing  to  hear  yon  speak  I  I  can  hardly  believe  it  Whews 
have  you  been  all  this  while !  Why  did  you  go  away  from  rae  f 

**  I  went  because  grandfather  wished  it,"  said  she.  "  I  wiU 
tell  you  some  other  time.  He  is  anxious  to  see  you.  He  has 
been  fretting  about  so  many  thing« ;  and  ho  will  not  confide  in 
me-HBOt  entirely — I  can  see  that  there  is  'concealment.  And, 
Vincent,"  she  went  on,  with  her  appealiug  eyes  fixed  on  him, 
^  don't  speak  to  him  about  Craig-Rcystonl-»-&nd  don*t  le$ 
bim  speak  about  it.  When  be  got  ili  in  Cairo,  it  was  more 
homesickness  than  anything  else,  as  I  think;  and  he  said  he 
wanted  to  go  and  die  in  bis  own  country  and  among  bis  own 
people ;  and  so  we  began  to  come  to  Scotland  by  slow  stages. 
Acd  now  that  we  are  here,  there  is  no  one  whom  he  knows<— he 
is  quite  as  much  alone  here  as  he  vim  in  J%ypt ;  far  more  alone 
than  we  used  to  be  in  (Jansda.  I  fancy  he  expects  that  a  mes- 
sage may  eomo  for  me  twm  ^sHoray — that  I  am  to  go  there  and 
be  received ;  and,  of  course,  that  is  quite  irapoosiblo ;  I  do  not 
know  t^om,  they  do  not  know  me ;  I  don*t  suppose  they  are 
even  aware  that  we  are  living  in  this  plac9.  But  if  he  is  disap- 
pointed in  that,  it,  is  Cnug-Boyaton  he  will  think  of  next — ^ho 
will  want  to  go  there  to  seek  oat  relatives  on  my  account.  Well, 
Vincent,  about  Craig-Royston— " 

She  hesitated :  and  the  pale  and  beautiful  face  became  suf- 
fused with  a  sort  of  piteous  embarrassment. 

"Bat  I  understand,  Maiarie,  quite  well!"  said  he,  boldly. 
"Why  should  yon  be  troubled  abont  that!  Yon  have  found 
out  there  is  no  such  place  {~^bnt  I  could  have  told  yon  so  long 
ago !  There  was  a  district  so  named  at  one  time>--«id  that  is 
quite  enough  for  your  grandfather— •  pictaresque  name  takes 
Me  fianey,  and  he  brings  it  into  his  own  life.  Where  »  the 
hatrm  of  that  I  Th»e  may  have  been  Grants  living  them  at  one 
time,  and  they  may  have  intermarried  with  tha  Bothnnes ;  an7<> 
ikOW,  your  grandfather  has  talked  hicoself  into  belteving  &ere 
was  sach  a  reUitionship ;  and  even  if  it  is  a  delusion,  what  injoj^ 


BUlv./-'-r-'rV"/i„lirf,i'hUM'ligia 


40« 


St  Am)  VAK    -JBAie-ROTITOirl 


does  it  do  to  any  hnnuui  ereatnre  i  Why,"  he  went  on,  qnite 
oheerfally,  to  reassure  her  and  give  her  comfort, "  I  am  perfectly 
aware  that  no  Scotch  family  ever  had  '  Stand  Fast,  Craig-Boys- 
ton !'  as  its  motto.  Bnt  if  the  phrase  oaoght  yoar  grandfather's 
ear,  why  should  not  he  choose  it  for  his  motto  f  Every  motto 
has  been  chosen  by  some  one  at  some  time.  And  then,  if  he 
thereafter  came  to  persuade  himself  that  this  motto  had  been 
worn  by  his  family,  or  by  some  branch  of  his  family,  what  harm 
is  there  in  that !  It  is  only  a  fancy — it  is  an  innocent  delusion 
— it  injures  no  one — " 

*'  Tes,  but,  Vincent,"  she  said — ^for  these  heroic  excuses  did 
not  touch  the  immediate  point — "  grandfather  is  quite  convinced 
about  the  Grants  of  Craig-Royston ;  and  he  will  be  going  away 
in  search  of  them,  so  that  1  may  find  relatives  and  shelter.  And 
the  disappointment  will  be  terrible.  For  he  has  got  into  a  habit 
of  fretting  that  never  was  usual  with  him.  He  has  fits  of  dis- 
trusting himself,  too,  and  begins  to  worry  about  having  done 
this  or  done  that ;  and  you  know  how  unlike  that  is  to  his  old 
courage,  when  he  never  doubted  for  a  moment  bnt  that  every- 
thing he  had  done  was  done  for  the  best  And  to  think  that 
he  should  vex  himself  by  imagining  he  had  not  acted  well  by 
me — when  he  has  given  his  whole  life  to  me,  as  long  as  I  can 
remember — " 

"  Maisrie,"  said  he,  "  when  your  grandfather  gets  well,  and 
able  to  leave  this  place,  where  are  yon  going  t" 

"  How  can  I  say  f '  she  made  answer,  wistfully  enough. 

"  For  I  do  not  mean  to  let  you  disappear  again.  No,  no.  I 
shall  not  let  you  out  of  my  sight  again.  Do  you  know  that  I 
have  a  house  waiting  for  Maisrie  f 

"  For  me  T'  she  said,  looking  up  surprised. 

"  For  whom  else,  do  you  imagine  t  And  rather  pretty  the 
rooms  are,  I  think.  I  have  got  a  stand  for  your  music,  Midarie ; 
that  will  be  handier  for  yon  than  putting  it  on  the  table  before 
you." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  My  place  is  with  my  grandfather,  Vincent,"  she  said.  **  And 
now  I  will  go  and  see  how  he  is.  He  wished  to  know  as  soon 
as  possible  of  your  arrival." 

S>3  left  the  room,  and  was  absent  only  a  couple  of  mia* 
uter. 


I  went  Oil,  quite 
, "  I  am  perfectly 
fast,  Craig-Roy*- 
mr  gnmdfather's 
>t  Every  motto 
And  then,  if  he 
motto  had  been 
unity,  what  harm 
nnocent  delusion 

sroio  excuses  did 
,8  quite  convinced 
ill  be  going  away 
ind  shelter.    And 
g  got  into  a  habit 
[e  has  fito  of  dis- 
)out  having  done 
that  is  to  his  old 
at  but  that  every- 
\ni  to  think  OoA 
not  acted  well  by 
I,  as  long  as  I  can 

ber  gets  well,  and 

illy  enough, 
igain.     No,  no.     I 
9  you  know  that  I 

I  rather  pretty  the 
our  music,  Maisrifl ; 
on  the  table  before 


t,"  she  said.   "And 
led  to  know  as  soon 

r  a  couple  of  mia- 


■■MIPI 


SXAKO  VAST,  OBAie-BOTBTOVi 

"Yes;  will  you  come  np^itain,  Vincent f  she  said  on  her 
return.  "I'm  afraid  you  will  find  him  much  changed.  And 
sometimes  ho  wanders  a  little  in  his  talking ;  you  must  tiy  to 
keep  him  as  quiet  as  may  ,be." 

As  they  entered  the  room  an  elderly  Scotchwoman most 

probably  the  landlady— who  had  been  sitting  there,  rose  and 
came  out  Vincent  went  forward.  Despite  Maisrie's  warning, 
ho  was  startled  to  notice  the  ravages  the  fever  had  wrought ; 
bat  if  the  proud  and  fine  features  were  pinched  and  worn,  the 
eyes  were  singularly  bright— bright  and  furtive  at  the  same 
time.  And,  at  sight  of  his  visitor,  old  George  Bethune  made  a 
deyperato  effort  to  assume  his  usual  gallant  air. 

"Hal"  said  he  — though  his  labored  breathing  made  this 
affectation  of  gayety  a  somewhat  pitiable  thing— "the  young 
legislator- fresh  from  the  senate— the  listening  senate,  the  ap- 
plause of  multitudes — " 

He  turned  his  restless  eyes  on  Moisrie ;  and  said,  in  quite  an 
altered  tone, 

"  Go  away,  girl,  go  away !" 

Well,  Maisrie's  nerves  were  all  unstrung  by  anxiety  and  watch- 
ing ;  and  here  was  her  lover  just  ^urrived,  to  listen  to  her  being 
so  cruelly  and  sharply  rebuked;  an4  so,  after  a  moment  of  in- 
decision, she  lost  her  self-control ;  she  flung  herself  on  her  knees 
by  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  burst  out  crying. 

"Don't  speak  to  me  like  that,  grandfather,"  she  sobbed; 
"  don't  speak  to  me  like  that  1" 

"Well,  well,  well,"  said  he,  in  an  altered  ^one,  "I  did  not 
mean  to  hurt  you.  No,  no,  Maisrie ;  you're  a  good  l/iss— a 
good  lass— -none  better  in  the  whole  kingdom  of  Scotland.  I 
was  not  thinking— I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear— I  beg  your 
pardon." 

She  rose  and  kissed  his  hand,  and  left  the  room.  Then  old 
Geo^  Bethune  turned  to  his  visitor,  and  began  to  talk  to 
him  in  a  curiously  rapid  way—rapid  and  disconnected  and  con- 
fused—while Uw  brilliant  eyes  were  all  the  time  fixed  anxiously 
on  the  young  man. 

"Yes,  I  am  glad  you  have  c<Hne— I  have  been  sorely  per- 
plexed," he  Mid,  in  his  husky  and  hurried  fashion ;  "perhaps, 
when  one  is  ill,  confidence  in  one's  own  judgment  gives  wi*"  a 
little— and  it  is  not — every  one  whom  you  can  consult.     But 


406 


MAITD  VAST,  OBAIO-flOTarOH  I 


Is 


thai  is  not  the  main  thing— not  tbe  main  thing  at  all — a  qnJMh 
tion  of  money  is  a  minor  thing^bat  yesterday — I  think  it  was 
yesterday — my  voice  seemed  to  be  going  from  me—and  I  thought 
— I  would  leave  yea  a  message.    The  book  there — bring  it — " 

He  looked  towards  a  red  volume  that  was  lying  on  the  win- 
dow-sill. Vincent  went  and  fetched  it ;  though,  even  as  he  did 
so,  he  thought  it  strange  that  a  man  who  was,  perhaps,  lying  on 
his  deathbed,  should  bother  about  a  book  of  ballads.  But  when, 
ho  might  have  asked  himself,  had  Occrge  Bethune  ever  seemed 
to  realise  the  relative  importance  of  the  things  around  him  t  To 
him  a  harebell,  brought  from  the  Braes  of  Oleniffer,  was  of  more 
value  than  a  king's  crown. 

'*  Open  at  the  mark,"  said  the  sick  man,  eagerly.  "  See  if 
yoo  nnderstand — without  much  said — to  her,  I  mean.  Poor 
Imb — ^poor  lass — I  caught  her  crying  once  or  twice— while  ire 
were  away — and  I  have  been  asking  myself  whether — whether 
it  was  all  done  for  the  best"  Then  he  seemed  to  pull  himself 
together  a  little.  "  Tes,  yas,  it  was  done  for  the  best — what 
appeared  best  for  every  one;  but  now< — ^well,  now  it  may  be 
judged  differently-— I  am  not  what  I  was — I  hope  !— have  done 
no  wrong." 

Yinoent  turned  to  the  marked  page ;  and  there  he  found  * 
verse  of  one  of  the  ballads,  pencilled  round,  with  the  last  Line 
nnderscored.    This  is  what  he  read  r- 

"  He  turned  his  fae«  onto  the  w»', 
And  death  wu  with  him  dealing; 
*  Adieu,  adieu,  my  dear  friendBV— 
AkMiaJBar^ttraAlUnP" 

The  old  man  was  Watching  him  anxiously  and  intently. 

«  Yes,  I  underctand,"  Vineent  said.  **  Acd  I  think  yon  .may 
depend  on  me." 

*'11ien' there  is  another  thing,"  the  old  man  continued,  his 
mind  leaping  from  one  point  to  another  with  marvellous  qnick- 
nees,  though  he  himself  seemed  so  Uinguid  and  frail.  '*  I-^I 
iyiah  to  hav»  di  things  left  in  order.  If  the  summons — comes 
— I  must  be  able  to  meet  it — with  head  up — ^fear  never  possessed 
me  ;dni{ng  life.  But  who  has  not  made  mistakes  f<— who  has  not 
made  mistakes  t — not  understood  at  the  time.  And  yet,  perhaps 
it  was  not  a  mistake— I  am  not  the  man  I  was— I  have  doioibts 
— ^I  thought  I  was  doing  well  by  all — ^but  now — I  am  uneasy— > 


;  at  all— a  qnes- 
-I  think  it  waa 
k—andlthoaght 
re — bring  it—" 
ring  on  the  win- 
[,  even  as  he  did 
terhapa,  lying  on 
ads.  Bat  when, 
one  ever  seemed 
iround  him  t  To 
ffer,  was  of  more 

igerly.  "See  if 
,  I  mean.  Poor 
twice — while  vre 
rhether — whether 
d  to  pall  himself 
r  the  best — what 
,  now  it  may  be 
ope  I— have  done 

there  he  fonnd  a 
irith  the  last  L^ne 


id  intently, 
think  yon  .may 

an  continaed,  his 
marrellons  qnick- 
nd  fnul.  '♦I— I 
inmmons — comes 
never  possessed 
:est— whohasnot 
And  yet,  perhaps 
I  have  dottbts 
—I  am  aneasy— 


8TA>D  VAST,  OBAIO-KOTSTOHI 


400 


questions  come  to  me  in  the  night-time — and  I  have  not  my  old 
strength — ^I  cannot  cast  them  behind  me  as  in  better  days." 

He  glacced  towards  the  door. 

"Keep  Maisrie  oat,"  said  he.  "Poor  lass — ^poor  Isss  I 
thooght  I  was  doing  well  for  her — ^bnt  when  I  fonnd  her  cry- 
ing—  Take  care  she  does  not  come  back  for  a  minnte  or 
two—" 

"  She  won't  come  until  you  send  for  her,"  Vincent  interposed. 

"  Then  I  must  make  hasten— and  you  must  listen.  The  money 
—that  I  was  persuaded  to  take  from  your  family — ^that  must  be 
paid  back— to  the  l«8t  farthing ;  and  it  will  not  be  difficult— 
oh,  no,  not  difficult — not  much  of  it  has  been  used — ^Bevan  dt 
Morris  will  tell  yon — ^Bevan  A  Morris,  Pall  Mall,  London.  And, 
indeed,  I  meant  to  do  what  I  promised — when  I  went  away 
— ^but  when  I  got  ill — I  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  being  buried 
out  of  Scotland — I  was  like  the  Swiss  soldier — in  the  trenches 
— ^who  heard  the  Alphom — something  arose  in  my  baeast — and 
Maisrie,- she  was  always  a  bidable  hus — she  was  jost  as  willing 
to  come  away.  But  the  money — ^well,  is  there  one  who  knows 
me,  who  does  not  know  how  I  have  scorned  that — that  delight 
of  the  igpioble  and  base-bom  t — and  yet  this  is  different^-this 
must  bo  paid  ba«*k — ^f or  Maisrie's  sake— every  farthings— to  your 
£unily.  She  must  be  no  b^^rar~-in  their  eyes.  And  you  must 
not  tell  her  anything — I  trust  you— if  I  can  trust  you  to  take 
care  of  her,  I  can  trust  you  in  smaller  things — so  take  a  pencil 
now— quick — when  I  remember  it — and  write  down  his  address 
— ^Daniel  Thompson — " 

"  Of  Toronto  f*  said  Vincent.    "  I  know  him." 

At  this  moment  George  Bethune  turned  his  head  a  little  on 
one  side,  and  wearily  closed  his  eyes.  Vincent,  assuming  that 
he  now  wished  to  rest — ^that  perhaps  he  might  even  have  sunk 
to  sloep,  which  was  tho  all-imp<ortant  thing  for  him — ^thought  it 
an  upportane  moment  to  retire;  and  on  tiptoe  made  tor  the 
door. ,  Bat  even  that  noiseless  movement  was  sufficient  to  u«nse 
those  abnormaUy  sensiUve  faculties;  those  restless  eyes  held 
him  agun. 

"No— 'no-^o  not  go,"  the  old  man  said*  in  the  same  half* 

incoherent,  eager  fashion.    "  I  must  have  all  put  in  orAet-— 

Daniel  Thompson — banker — Toronto — he  ,wiU  mak^  all  that 

■tnught  with  yoor  family.    For  Maisrie's  sake— wad  more  than 

S 


I 


'"■^^i  '^- 


■mi 


410 


fTASP  VAITi  Oa^SHUITnOVl 


that  k«  woaU  do  for  iMr-HMd  ha  prMd.Mid  g^  to  do  it,  too. 
He  will  b«  her  fHend — end  yoox-well,  I  leave  her  to  you — yen 
mnit  provide  a  home  for  her."  ... 

"It  ia  ready,"  laid  Vineent 

'*She  vrill  Bouike  afood  «ifer-«eb«.will  staod  firm  by  the  man 
ahe  marrieai— abe  haa  conrager-Hwd  a  loyal  heart  Perhapa— 
perhaps  I  ahoold  have  seen  to  it  before — perhaps  yoa  should 
have  had  yonr  way  at  Brighton-^and  ahe-~well,  she  was  so 
willing  to  go— 4hat  deceived  me.  And  there  nraat  be  Unghing 
now  for  h«r— it  is  natnrri  for  a  yoang  has  to  W  f^M  and  merry 
—fiat  any  mora  weeping-— die  la  in  iwr  own  hmd.  Why,"  aaid 
he,  and  hia  eyes  bnmed  still  more;  brii^tly,  and  his  speech  be* 
uame  more  ineonseontive,  though  always  hurried  and  pantin|fl 
^  I  remember  a  story — a  story  that  a  servant  lasa  used  to  tell  isie 
when  I  W9  •t«lifld<— I  need  to  go  Into  the  kitchen — ^when  d^ 
waa  mddng  th*  l»ead— it  waa  Ji  atdry  irf  a  fine  yonng  man 
called  Eagle— he  had  been  oanied  awi^  to  ad  eagle^a  nert  when 
he  waa  an  infant — and  his  sweetheaii  waa  called.  AngeL  .  WeUi 
I  do  not  remember  all  the  adventiumiH-«I  have  been  tidnldag 
lomatimea  that  ^y  moat^^  have  baen  of  fiaatera  origin— -Eaatem 
origins-yea— the  baker  whs  tried  to  bwn  him  in  an  ovenr<~the 
And^ian-N^l^tfr— bat  no  uatter-r-atihe  end  he  found  hia sweet- 
heart^^H^id  there  waa  a  aplendid  wedding.  And  gnat  aa  they 
were  flMrried  ii  white  dove  flew  rf^  down  tiie  middle  of  the 
ohordb,  and  called  alood,  'AVreo,  itnnwo;  Hagle  hai  ffoHut 
iAngdiMmP  laaed to^ian^e  I  oonid  aeethem  «t  the  altaiw.- 
and  the  white  dove  flying  down  the  church-^" 

"Don't  you  think  you  ahould  try  to  get  a  little  rest  nawf 
Yineent  aaid,  piersnauvely.  **  Tou  have  arranged  everything — 
all  Is  put  in  order.  But  what  we  want  iaior  yon  to  get  rest 
and  qnieti  until  this  illness  ieavea  yon,  and  yon  grow  atrong  and 
weUagain."      .- '- 

**  Tea,  yea,"  aaid  the  old  man»  qniekly,  **  that  ia  quite  rights 
tiiai  ia  «o— «{or  I  mnat  pay  off  liinnpaoii,  yon  know,  I^muat  pay 
off  Hiopipaen.  ThompaQB  ia  ■  •  igooA^  idlow««Mmd :  an  hnaeak 
Scot— but  he  used  to  talk  a  little.  Let  him  do  thia-^or  lfai» 
rie'a  sahe  .-afterwaida'^-ia^terwiard^^Whenlam  well  and. itreng 
tpkor^l  will  aqnare  17  aoooonta  with  him.  (Ht^  ysa^vnjFi 
lyt'^  b»  OBBtiaaedf;  sM-noW  ih»'.i»egaatiftjvhiapar  in  a 
ova  manner.    "  liaton^  nbw^I  have  a  little  sohMue  in  tntikb^ 


to  do  it,  too. 
to  yott — ^you 


iby  tlMmaa 
Perh»p»— 
I  you  should 
,  she  WM  M 
tbekagbhig 
ad  and  merry 

Why,"  M«d 
liis  speech  he* 

and  pavtial^ 
asedtoteUiM 
en>-wheii'  A» 
le  young 
^'s  nert  when 
AngeL  WeH, 
been  thinUag 
rigm-^EaBtem 
i  an  oren?— the 
oondhisBweefr- 
d^oBt  as  ihey 

iniddk  of  the 

tt  at  the  altai*** 

title  rest  nowf 
id  everything — 
yoa  to  get  rest 
prow  strong  and 

is  cpiite  rights 
noir,I^iuitp«]r 
.^wd  an  hoaeifc 
this^or  Mai» 
well  aad  itM»g 
ti,y«s^««ry«M^ 
ioein  imjilmie 
heme  is  snii^h? 


Vriail  VAST,  OBAIO-MTROV^ 


not  a  word  to  feuybodjr'*^c?e  mighi  be  some  om  qakk.  to 
snatch  it  ap.  It  is  a  Tolame  I  have  in  mind — a  Tolame  on  the 
liTing  poets  of  Soothmd'— think  of  that,  now — a  splendid  suK 
jeet,  sorely  1 — ^the  Tdioe  of  the  peoplo^-everyday  sorrow^  and 
joys — ^the  minstrelsy  of  a  whole  race; .  TWe  iras  the  Ameriosn 
book — ^bnt  something  went  wrong>— I  did  not  bfamie  any  on»— 
and  I  was  ghid  it  was  paUished—Carmiohael  let  me  rsriew  it 
—yes,  yes,  there  may  be  »  chance  for  me  yet-"!  may  do  some- 
thing yet — ^for  auld  -Scotland's  sake  1  Ihaye  been  leoUi^  into 
tiie  iImmm  «m/tt  /'/ittoiua— 4he  doon  hare  been  wide  opm— 
but  still  there  may  be  a  chaneiB-^tliere  is  some  fire  still  banning 
witiiio.  Bat  my  memory  is  not  what  it'  was,"  he  went  on,  in  a 
eonfosed,  perplexed  way.  *'I  once  had  a  good  memory— >«n 
eseeltent  memory-^bnt  now  things  escape  me;  Yesterday-^I 
think  it  was  yesterday—I  ooald  aok  (ell  whether  Bob  Tennant 
was  still  witb  ns-^sod  his  verses  to  Allander  Water  have  all 
gone  fr6m  me — all  bnt  a  phraso'>-*  How  sweet  to  roam  by  Allaii^ 
der'-^How  sweet  to  roam  by  Alexander !-^«o»  my  hsad  is  vol 
so  clear  as  it  onght  to  be—"    •  '■  ftt'-w  C-ci: v  !t."..4'  t \  i  ■  ■  ('vi 

**'Soi  of  obniM  not,"  said  Vincent,  in  a  sootUng  sort  of^wflyj 
**  How  eoold  yov  expect  it,  with  this  illness  t  Bot  these  things 
wiH  all  come  back.-  And  I'm  going  to  help  yov  as  nneh  as  I 
can;  '  When'  I  wsv  in  New  York  I  heard  yonr  friend,  Hngh  An^ 
Btrother,'  delirav  a  speech  about  those  Kving  Scotch  poets,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  well  iMqnainted  with  them ;  I  will  write  to- him 
fer^aay  information  you  mi^  wmtL  So  now — ^now  that  is  all 
settled ;  and  I  would  tiy  to  rest  for  a  while,  if  I  wen  yon ;  that 
iv'fte  main  tlung^— the  unmediate  thing." 

Bat  the  dd  man  w^  on  without  heeding  him,  nmttering  to 
Kims^tM^'tren: 

**C^timb€nf$  JemrnaU^-pahmfm  as  far  back  aa  thitty  yeasi 
diiM»>-4hire's  one  verse  hss  mi^;  in  my  ears  all  this  time — but 
the  rest  is  all  blaidr>Hmd  the  name  (rf  the  writcfr  f oigetten,  if  ik 
«««r  wM  pobUshed-^'^'Tis  by  Westray  that  she  wuders  ;^  . 
lis  by  Weatnrf  tlurt  she  strays  ..  ;  Oh,  waft  me,  Ikeaveas,  1»i 
WeMwf  .  V  .  inHis  ^dii^  ctf  the  yoongdayst'  .  .  .  No,  wv 
it  eaaaot  b«  W4Nrtnqr'^Wes<ray  is  too  ter  nottk— WattmyM< 
Tkt'toMOudsrighti.^^lls  by  Westray  ihat  she  wanders  «  ;  « 
Tis  by  Westray  that  she  strays—* "        '■■  <'  ^ .     - 

Tliore  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  docCwr  appeal ;  a  lit- 


'-^^m'' 


419 


ni«l>  WkWt,  ORAIO-BOYBTO'iri 


tie,  old,  wliite-haired  man,  of  sLsip  and  pdnotiU<  oi  demeanor. 
Behind  him  was  the  landlady.  hr«nging  back  8  ■•  tiwhat  ^«  if  it 
were  for  farther  inatmrtiona;  00,  «he  being  t1  to  hnlp;  Yin- 
cent  thought  he  woald  go  down-i^ff' «  anc*  amk  vut  Maiarie.  He 
found  her  in  ti  »  '..ttlo  piuior,  awaiting  him. 

**  V,  hat  do  you  think,  Vincent !"  she  said,  quickly. 

"  I  haven't  spoken  to  the  doctor  yet,"  he  made  answer.  "  Of 
oonrae,  every  one  can  see  that  your  grandfather  is  very  ill ;  but 
if  nonrage  will  serve,  who  could  ha^e  a  Lettir  chance  f  And  I 
will  tvli  you  this,  Maisrie,  he  is  likely  to  have  more  peace  of 
mind  now.  He  haa  been  vexing  himself  about  mi  Uj'  things,  as 
you  guessed ;  and  although  he  waa  wandering  a  good  deal  while 
I  was  with  him,  perhaps  all  the  time,  I  couid  not  quite  make 
sure—still,  it  is  wonderful  how  he  has  argued  these  matters  ont| 
and  how  clearly  yon  can  follow  his  meaning.  It  was  about  yon 
and  your  future  he  was  most  troubled — in  the  event  of  anything 
happening  to  him ;  and  he  has  not  been  afraid  to  look  all  possi* 
biUties  in  the  faoe ;  he  told  me  the  doon  of  the  domvu  cct/ta 
PluUmia  had  stood  wide  open  before  him,  i^A  I  know  he  was 
not  the  one  to  be  alarmed  for  himself.  But  about  you,  Mais- 
rie ;  do  you  know  that  he  haa  given  you  over  to  me — ^if  the 
wont  oomea  to  the  worst?  Ho  asked  mo  to  provide  a  home  for 
you ;  I  told  him  it  was  ahready  there,  awaiting  yon.  Ton  see, 
I  have  not  forgotten  what  you  said  to  me  at  Brighton ;  and  I 
mew  that  some  day  yon  and  I  should  find  ourselves,  as  we  now 
find  ourselves,  face  to  face — perhaps  in  sad  circumtitaDoeB,  but 
all  the  more  dependent  on  each  other — " 

*'  Do  yon  think  he  is  so  very  ill,  Vincent  I"  she  said.  She 
seemed  to  have  no  thought  of  herself — only  of  her  grandfather. 

*'  Ton  must  sei<  he  is  rei^  ill,  Maisrie — very,"  ho  answered 
her.  **  But,  as  I  say,  if  splendid  courage  will  serve,  then  you 
moy  hope  for  the  best  And  he  ought  to  be  quieter  in  mind 
now.    We  will  hear  what  the  doctor  has  to  say — " 

But  at  this  moment  there  was  an  unwonted  sound  without  in 
the  still  littie  vilUge — ^the  sound  of  carriage-wheels  on  tiie  stony 
biMet;  and  presently  some  vehicle,  itself  anseea,  was  heard  to 
atop  in  front  of  the  inn.  In  another  second  or  so^  a  servant- 
girii  opened  the  door  of  the  parlor  and  timidly  said  to  Mdwrie : 

"  Mlfls  Biithime,  miss." 

"Miss  Bethniner  Maisrie  repeated,  wondering. 


OS  deoieaocT. 

iwhat  «•  if  it 
to  h«H,Vin- 
Maisrie.    He 

answer.    "  Of 
very  iU ;  bat 
knee  f    And  I 
Qore  peace  of 
nj'  thing's,  aa 
ood  deal  while 
ot  quite  make 
16  matters  out, 
was  about  you 
int  of  anything 
look  all  possi- 
le  domui  txUii 
[  know  he  was 
oat  yoa,  Mais- 
to  me — ^if  the 
ride  a  home  for 
yoa<    "f  on  see, 
trighton;  and  I 
ihes,  as  we  now 
caoutanoes,  bat 

she  said.  She 
ber  grandfather. 
f,^  ho  answered 
serve,  then  you 
quieter  in  mind 

lound  without  in 
gels  on  the  stooy 
Bn^  was  heard  to 
or  BO^  a  servant- 
said  to  liidsrie : 


tVAVD   VAST,  OBAIO-aOTSfOX 


411 


^ing  a  third  per- 

t  np  to  Malsrie, 

tf/oe  so  Hweet  and 


**  Fl^  >  the  cteitle,  miss,"  the  girl  naid,  in  awe-strifiken  tonew. 

Ar  1  it  was  carious  that  at  snch  a  criNis  Maisrie'»  eyett  should 
turn  iiistiuctively  to  Vincent — as  if  to  app'.al  for  advice.     Of 
course  bis  decision  was  taken  on  the  instant. 
.    "  Ask  i^iss  Bcthtiue  to  8*«p  this  way,  then,'  he  said  to  the  girl. 

Maisrie  rose — a  little  pale,  but  absolutely  self-pcr^Aased.  Bhe 
lid  not  know  who  this  might  be — perhaps  the  bearer  of  grave 
and  harassing  tidings  for  her  grandfather ;  for  she  had  grown 
to  fear  Balloray  and  »ll  it>i  associations  and  belongings.  As  it 
turned  out  she  had  not  nuich  to  fear  from  this  emissary.  There 
oacio  into  the  room  a  tall  and  elegant  ladv  r .  h.  out  thirty,  not 
very  pretty,  but  very  gentle-looking,  V  r^  gn,y  eyos.    For 

a  brief  second  she  seemed  ombarrasci  '  yp 
son  present ;  but  that  passed  direct'      ahv 
and  took  her  hand  and  held  it,  and    ut    '^n  % 
winning  tliat  it  went  straight  to  t'     ^  ^  . 

"Pr.  Lenzie  has  told  me  of  '-c  ■r  able.  I'm  very,  very 
sorry.  Will  you  let  me  help  y  v  in  s^y  way  that  is  possible  I 
May  I  send  to  Edinburgh  for  a  -t'     arse  to  give  you  assist- 

ance ;  and  in  the  meantime,  if  you  .vi^.iied  it,  I  could  send  along 
my  maid  to  do  anything  you  wanted — " 
^  Maisrie  pressed  her  to  be  seated,  and  tried,  in  rather  uncer- 
tain accents,  to  thank  her  for  her  exceeding  kindness.  For  this 
stranger,  with  the  greatest  tact,  made  no  apology  for  her  intra- 
sion ;  it  was  no  case  of  the  castle  coming  to  the  cottage,  with 
acts  of  officious  benevolence ;  it  was  simply  one  woman  appeal- 
ing to  another  woman  to  be  allowed  to  help  her  in  dire  straits. 
Whether  she  knew  that  the  old  man  np-stairn  claimed  to  be  the 
rightful  owner  of  Balloray,  whether  she  knew  that  the  beautiful 
pensive-eyed  girl  who  was  speaking  to  her  had  indirectly  suf- 
fered through  that  Ingal  deo'sion  of  generations  ago,  Vincent 
could  not  at  the  moment  guess ;  what  was  obvious  was  merely 
this  womanly  act  of  sympathy  and  charity,  for  which  .Maisrie 
Bethnne  showed  herself  abundantly  grateful.  When  the  doctor 
came  down,  this  visitor  with  the  friendly  eyes  and  the  soft  voioe 
explained  that,  just  in  case  the  patient  should  need  brandy  to 
keep  up  his  strength,  she  had  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  some 
with  her — of  good  quality;  the  resoarces  of  the  Balloray  x^nns 
being  limited  in  that  respect.  As  she  said  this  tiie  hesitatingly 
blushed  a  UtUe ;  and  Vincent  thought  she  looked  really  beauti- 


IflttliUliMiiliitiilfiii 


j'JtM.:." 


sss: 


414 


WIAJn  VAM,  <&▲!•  MTKOVI 


■ 


fol  He  recalled  to  himeelf  hie  rant,  Lady  ]laaa«nmifb ;  aud 
wondered  whether  ehe,  with  all  her  fine  presence  and  eloqaent 
•yes,  could  look  as  nobly  beaotif  nl  aa  thia  poor  woman,  who  waa 
rather  plain. 

.  The  doctor's  report  was  on  the  whole  encoaraging ;  the  tem- 
perature of  the  patient  was  the  least  thing  lowjr,  and  he  waa 
more  equable  in  mind. 

"  He  appears  to  hare  been  greatly  pleased  by  yonr  Tiidt,  nr," 
the  little  doctor  said,  in  a  strong  Bast  Country  accent,  to  the 
young  mafl.  "  Very  pleased  indeed.  And  it  it  just  wonderful 
how  he  can  reason  and  ezpUin ;  though  I'm  not  ao  sue  he'll  be 
able  to  remember  all  he's  been  sa3ring.  But  now,  he  tells  me, 
all  his  dispositions  are  made;  he  is  content;  there  is  nothing 
more  on  his  mind — except,  as  I  gather,  about  some  book." 

*'I  know  all  about  that,"  said  Maisrie.  *'I  can  pacify  hi  n 
about  that ;  and  I'm  going  upnBtairs  directly." 

Of  course  she  had  to  wait  and  see  Miss  Bethune  and  the  doc- 
tor leave ;  thou  she  turned  to  Vincent 

"  Will  you  go  oi  t  for  a  walk,  Vincent  t  I  have  asked  Mn. 
MacGill  to  let  you  have  some  dinner  at  seven." 

"  Oh,  don't  you  bother  about  me,  Maisrie  1"  he  said.  *'  Can't 
I  be  of  any  use  to  you  upstairs  t" 

"  Not  unless  grandfather  asks  for  you  again— then  I  will  send 
for  you,"  she  answered.  ,  j. 

Bho  was  going  away,  when  he  interrupted  her  for  a  momentfj 
.  "  I  will  come  up  whenever  you  want  me,"  he  said ;  and  then 
he  added:  "  But — but — you  know  him  so  much  better  than  I  do, 
Mnisrie.  Do  you  think  we  should  tell  him  of  Miss  Bethnno 
having  been  here  f 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Vincent  T'  she  said,  in  eameat  ranumstranoa. 
<■  Nothing  would  excite  him  more  terribly.  You  know  he  haa 
already  been  talking  of  some  meHsage  coming  from  Balloray  to 
me — of  the  possibility  of  it — and  this  would  net  his  brain  work- 
ing in  a  hundred  different  directions.  He  might  think  they 
were  coming  to  take  me  away  from  him— perhaps  to  do  me 
some  harm — or  ho  might  imagine  that  I  had  humbled  myself 
before  them,  to  make  friends  with  them,  and  that  would  trouble 
him  more  than  anythbg  else;  you  cannot  tell  what  wild  fancies 
might  not  get  into  his  head.  So  there  must  not  be  a  word  said 
about  Mias  Betbone^  Yinoent," 


Mian  9U9,  MAMMMTlVOVt 


HB 


nmrgfa;  Mid 
ind  eloquent 
oui,  who  WM 

ag ;  the  tem- 
,  and  he  was 

or  vUlt*  nr," 
«eent,  to  the 
lit  wonderful 
isntehe'Ube 
,  he  telle  me, 
ire  is  nothing 
1  book." 
o  pacify  hi  a 


and  the  doo- 


re  asked  Mre. 

said.    "Can't 

len  I  will  send 

or  a  moment, 
aid ;  and  then 
)tter  than  I  do, 
Mies  Bethnne 

temonitranoet 
I  know  he  has 
am  Balloray  to 
bis  brain  work- 
jht  think  they 
laps  to  do  me 
ambled  myself 
;  would  tronble 
lat  wild  fancies 
beaw<»d8aid 


"  Of  oonrte  yon  k«»ir  beet,  llaisrie,"  said  he.  And  Ml  he 
did  not  let  her  go.  What  was  he  to  say  uert,  to  detain  hert 
It  was  so  long  since  he  had  heard  her  voice  1  **  When  you  go 
np^tairs,  llaiarie,  I  wiuh  yon  would  look  at  the  b^k  of  baUads 
that  is  lying  on  the  table.  There  are  some  lines  nuvked-v^you 
will  see  a  bit  of  paper  to  tell  you  the  page.  Do  you  know  what 
that  means  I  Your  grandfather  thought  that  he  might  not  k«ve 
strength  enongh  left  to  speak  to  mo  when  I  came ;  and  so  this 
was  to  be  a  bwt  me«ag»  f or  BM.  IsnHltftraogethatlntheface 
of  so  serious  an  illnean  he  sheoU  be  thinking  about  a  ballad ;  but 
you  know  better  than  any  one  that  ballads  are  as  real  to  your 
grandfather  as  the  aotnal  things  around  him.  And  I  want  yoo 
to  look  at  that  meesage.  I  have  told  your  grandfather  that  he 
nay  depend  on  mo." 

1  bhe  went  np-stairs;  he  passed  out  into  the  golden  glow  of 
the  afternoon.  It  was  not  a  beautiful  village,  this — ^plain,  un- 
lovely, mehuie!.oly  in  the  Isst  degree ;  moreover,  his  own  mind 
wss  filled  with  dim  ami  dark  forebodings ;  so  that  a  sort  of 
gloom  of  death  and  separation  seemed  to  hang  over  those 
houses.  Nor  was  there  anything  to  look  at,  for  the  distraetkNi 
of  thought  Aa  Bngltsh  Ullage  would  have  had  a  pieture8<}ae 
old  church  and  a  pretty  churchyard;  here  there  was  nothing 
but  a  small  mission^hoose  of  the  most  duU  and  forbidding  e»- 
terior,  while,  just  beyond  the  last  of  the  hovels,  4hefe  was  a 
oemetefy*'-«  mound  enclosed  by  a  stone  waU.  Be  went  to  the 
gate,  and  stood  there  &  long  time,  with  some  curious  fancies  and- 
nuginings  eoming  into  his  head.  He  seemed  to  see  an  open 
grave  there,  and  a  small  knot  of  people,  himself  th»  chief 
mourner.  And  then,  after  the  simple  and  solemn  ceremony,  he 
saw  himself  leave  the  sad  enclosure  and  go  away  back  through" 
the  unlovely  street,  rather  fearing  what  lay  before  him.  For  how 
was  he  to  attempt  to  console  the  solitary  girl,  awaiting  him  there 
in  her  despair  and  her  tears!  But  behold  now,  if  Uiere  were 
any  charity  and  commiseration  left  in  the  world—if  one,  hitherto 
obdurate,  would  but  consent  to  bury  her  enmity  in  that  open 
grave  they  had  left — as  well  she  mif^t,  for  there  was  no  one  to 
offend  her  now — and  if  she  were  to  reaeh  oat  a  woman's  hand 
to  this  lonely  girl,  and  take  her  widi  her,  and  shelter  her,  until 
the  time  of  her  sorrow  was  over  t  HiIs  was  a  bleak,  plain,  com- 
monplace sort  of  a  burial  ground  into  which  he  was  gaiing;  but 


li 


»^ 


41» 


WtAtm   FAIT,  OKAIO-KOTMOWI 


J> 


none  th«  lew  hwl  hanuw  he«rU  oome  away  from  it  heary  and 
rfmorseful — remoraeful  whon  it  was  too  lat«.  And  if  some  lit- 
tle atonement  were  to  bo  offered  in  the  way  he  had  imagined-^ 
if  it  werq  tha  only  thing  now  left  t  Thia  girl,  aitting  alone  there 
in  her  deaperate  grief — without  kindred— without  frienda— with' 
cut  any  home  or  habitation  to  turn  her  face  to ;  lurely  her  •itna' 
tion  waa  of  all  thinga  poaaible  moat  forlorn — aurely  no  woman'a 
heart  could  roaiat  that  muto  appeal  for  eympathy  and  aaaooiation  I 

Aa  he  walked  alowly  and  aimleaaly  back  to  the  inn,  ho  began 
to  think  ho  had  been  a  little  too  hard  on  thoae  relativea  of  hia. 
Daath,  or  even  the  menace  of  death,  waa  a  aolrent  of  many 
thing* — it  made  all  antagoniama,  animoaitiea,  indignationB,  ap- 
pear ao  trivial  and  unworthy.  He  could  not  but  remember  that 
it  waa  not  through  any  selflahneaa  thoae  relativea  of  hia  had 
toted  (unleea  aoroc  small  trace  of  family  ambition  were  a  minor 
motive) ;  what  they  had  done  th-*y  had  done,  aa  they  imagined, 
to  aerve  him ;  there  might  have  been  errora  of  judgment,  but  no 
ill-will  on  their  part  And  now,  in  thia  terrible  criaia,  if  he  were 
to  write  to  Lady  Mueaelburgh — write  in  all  conciliation  and  kind- 
neaa — and  tell  her  how  Maiarie  Bethune  waa  aitnated,  would  ahe 
not  allow  her  heart  to  answer  t  She  waa  a  woman ;  ahe  pro- 
leaaad  to  be  a  Chriatian.  And  if  the  worst  befell,  or  even  if  the 
worst  were  threatened,  aurely  ahe  would  come  at  once  to  Scot- 
land, and  make  what  little  amenda  were  now  within  her  power  t 
How  many  homes  had  ahe — in  Londor ,  Brighton,  Mendover— 
how  many  friends,  reUtions,  woll-wishera — aa  compared  with  this 
tragically  lonely  girl,  who  had  uuthing  but  the  wide  world  around 
her,  and  no  one  offering  her  a  sympathetic  hand  f  Ue  would 
write  to  hia  aunt  a  long  and  urgent  letter — appealing  to.her  own 
better  nature — and  asking  to  be  allowed  to  aummon  her,  by 
jlegram,  if  there  were  need.  He  would  ovon  humble  and  abase 
kiu^lf — for  Maiarie's  sake. 

But  when  he  got  back  to  the  inn,  he  found  that  all  these 
sombre  proguosticatioiis  were,  happily,  not  immediately  called 
for.  On  the  contrary,  Maisrie  came  running  down  to  say  that 
her  grandfather  had  been  asleep,  or  apparently  asleep,  and  that, 
when  he  woke  up,  he  seemed  much  refreshed,  with  hia  memory 
grown  infinitely  clearer.  He  waa  especially  proud  that  he  could 
remember  the  verses  about "  Allander  Water." 
cent  to  go  up  to  him  at  once. 


He  wanted  Via- 


Ak« 


^^ 


rom  it  heary  and 

And  if  ■ome  lit* 

0  had  imagined— 

itting  alone  than 

oat  frienda— with' 

■urel  J  her  aitna' 

ureljr  no  woman'a 

ly  and  aaaociation  I 

the  inn,  ho  began 

M  relativea  of  his. 

■olrent  of  many 

,  indignation!,  ap> 

rat  remember  that 

Utives  of  bia  had 

ition  were  a  minor 

as  they  imagined, 

f  judgment,  bnt  no 

le  criaia,  if  he  were 

iciliation  and  kind- 

litnated,  would  ahe 

woman ;  ahe  pro- 

Bfell,  or  even  if  the 

le  at  once  to  Scot- 

within  her  power  t 

l^hton,  Mendover — 

compared  with  this 

wide  world  antund 

hand!    Ue  wonld 

>pealing  to.her  own 

}  Bummon  her,  by 

humble  and  abase 

and  that  all  these 
immediately  called 
;  down  to  say  that 
ly  asleep,  and  that, 
1,  with  his  memory 
>roud  that  he  could 
"    He  wanted  Yin- 


wuam  vaav,  oi4io-aoTato«^ 


ill 


**  And  yoo  nut  please  him,  VineeBt,"  ih«  said,  breathlessly, 
'*by  promising  to  do  everything  to  help  him  -with  the  book. 
Promiae  whatever  he  wiahes.  Bat  be  sure  yoa  don't  mention 
that  Miss  Bethnne  waa  here — don't  say  a  word  about  that  or 
anything  about  Balloray." 


OHAPTBR  XXVL 
A  BJiBBLi  o'  oaHN  FiiLoa :  ran  bvd. 

Tbbbb  was  a  wonderful  vitality,  eapecially  of  the  brain,  in 
this  old  nun ;  after  long  pcrioda  of  languor  and  exhaostion,  with 
low  moaninga  and  mutteringn  quite  unintelligible  to  the  patient 
watchers,  he  wonld  flame  up  into  something  like  his  former  self, 
and  his  speech  would  become  eager  and  voluble,  and  almost 
oonseontive.  It  waa  In. those  intervals  that  he  showed  himself 
probd  of  his  recovered  m<  )ry ;  sgain  and  again  they  could 
hear  him  repeat  the  lines  that  for  a  time  had  baffled  him— 

"  How  twMt  to  roam  by  Alkndar,  to  br«4th«  th*  b«lmy  al^, 
Whan  eloadl«H  %n  the  •umiiMr  aki«i,  and  wooda  and  6alda  ara  fair ; 
To  aae  tba  akylark  aoartog  high,  and  obantiog  on  tba  wing, 
While  in  yon  wooda  naar  Oatder  Kirk  the  wild  l>lrda  awactly  aing." 

He  was  bcsy  with  the  new  book — choosing  and  arranging ;  and 
Maiarie,  as  his  omannansis,  jotted  down  memoranda  aa  to  the 
poeta  to  be  included,  and  the  pieces  most  characteristic  of  them. 
For  he  was  not  to  be  pacified  into  silence  and  acquieaoence — in 
these  clearer  mooda,  There  was  harry,  he  said.  Some  one  elae 
might  step  in.  And  he  orossroxamined  Vincent  about  the  quo- 
tations that  Hugh  Anstroth^r  bad  nude  at  the  Burna'  *Z!elebr»-. 
tion  in  New  York. 

'*  I  hardly  remember,"  Vincent  anawerec.  nim.  "  There  wore 
a  good  many.  But  there  was  one  piece  I  thought  rather  pa- 
thetic— I  don't  recall  the  name  of  it — but  it  was  about  a  little 
pair  of  shoes — Che  motLer  thinking  of  her  dead  child." 

"  What  t — what  t"  said  the  old  man,  quickly.  "  Not  James 
Smith's  I    Not  ♦  The  Wee  Pair  o'  Shoon ' !" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  think  that  was  the  title,"  sai4  Vincent. 

An  anxious  and  troubled  expression  came  into  the  sick  man's 
eyes ;  he  was  laboring  with  his  memory — and  Maisrie  saw  it 
97 


i.i^-.M'- 


■TAVO  VAST, 


"  Nerer  mind,  grandfitthor ;  never  mind  jast  now ;  if  you  vant 
it,  I'll  vrite  to  Mr.  Anstruther  for  it.  See,  I  will  pat  it  down  in 
the  list ;  and  -I'll  send  for  it  i  and  it  will  be  back  here  in  plenty 
of  time." 

"But  I  know  it  quite  well  I"  he  said,  fretfully,  " The  last 
Terse  anyway.  '  The  eastlin  wind  bUws  caald,  Jamie — ^the 
snaw's  on  hill  and  plain — '"  He  repeated  those  two  lines 
over  and  over  again,  with  half-shat  eyes ;  aild  then  all  at  once 
he  went  on  with  the  remainder !  '  -    '  - 

"  Tbe  fowen  tbtt  decked  my  lammio'a  gniT* 
Ara  faded  noo,  »n'  giane  I 
■  '   0,  dinna  sp»k  I    IkenBhedwella"  ■'"'^■^'l^s'^'^tet.ii.- 
In  yon  fair  land  abooa ;  f 
>   I                  But  aair's  the  skht  that  bliu's  my  e'»~  ; 
That  wee,  wee  pair  o'  ahoon."            ,      " 

There  was  a  kind  of  proud  look  in  his  face  as  lie  finished. 

"Yes,  yes ;  it's  a  fine  thing  to  have  a  good  memory—- <uid  I 
owe  that  to  my  father — ^ho  said  there  never  was  a  minute  in  the 
day  that  need  be  wasted — ^you  conld  always  repeat  to  yourself 
a  verse  of  the  Psalms  t.<f  David.  I  think  the  jSdigt  word  i(^  ap- 
proval— I  ever  got  from  him — ^ye  see,  Maisrie,  we  were  brought 
up  under  strict  government  in  those  day»~>was  when  I  repeated 
the  One  hundred  and  nineteenth  Psalna — the  whole  twenty-two 
parts—- with  hardly  a  mistake.  And  what  a  talisman  to  carry 
about  with  ye— on  the  deck  of  a  steamer— on  Lake  Oatarir — in 
the  night — ^with  the  stars  overhead—then  the  Forty-raxth  Flsi^m 
comes  mto  your  mind — you  are  back  in  Scotland — ^you  see  the 
small  church,  and  the  boxed-in  pews — ^the  men  and  women  stand* 
ing^  up  to  sing — ^the  men  all  in  black — I  wonder  if  they  have 
<  Balliarma*  in  tbe  Scotch  churches  now— «nd  *Dmmelog'--~an<i 
« New  St.  Ann's'—"  >  -v^- 

H«  shut  his  eyes— those  unnaturally  brilliant  ej'ea— 4far  *  see* 
ond  or  so ;  but  the  next  second  tiiey  were  open  and  ale^t  »^vk 

"The  book,  Maisrie — the  book — are  you  getting  on f— ao  de. 
lay— no  delay— in  case  some  one  should  interfeire.  Ye've  got 
Shairp  in,  haven't  ye  ? — the  bum  of  Quair — up  yondei^— above 
the  Minch  Moor — 

*^' I  heard  the  cnsblss  cromi,  ■  >-• 

Through  tbe  gowden  aftemooB, 
AM  Qaak  tram  singin'  doon  to  the  vale  «^  Tweed.' 


mmm 


mmmm 


wmm 


;  if  yottwant 
It  it  doira  in 
ere  in  plenty 

^,  "The  last 

Jamie — ^the 

Be  two  lines 

Q  all  at  once 


■.'... '.f 


»  finished. 
inory-~-«nd  I 
imnate  is  tbe 
it  to  yoiusell 
t  word  dap' 
were  brooght 
on  I  repeated 
le  twenty-two 
tman  to  ewry 
eOatarir — in 
y-sisth  BuUm 
—you  see  the 
women  stand* 
if  they  have 
-ami 

es— 4ior  a  seo- 
td  alert  a^& 
If  on  1—no  de< 
e.  YeVe  got 
onder-~aboir« 


wl' 


OTAiTB  tAst,  <imAi6-iiion*oin 


Well  do  I  ktunr  tl*  rtity  «pot  where  he  most  h&ve  written  thorn 
verses.  Yea,  yes ;  well  I  remeinber  it,"  he  continued,  more  ab- 
sently. "  But  I  have  had  my  last  look.  I  will  see  it  no  more — 
BO  more.  Yon,  Mnisrie,  you  will  go  there— -yoor  young  hus- 
band wiU  take  you  there." 

"  Grandfather,  we  will  all  go  tiiere  together !"  suid  Musrie, 
piteously. 

"  And  botii  of  yon,"  the  old  man  went  on^  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  her,  forbe  was  apparently  gazing  at  some  distont  thing — 
"both  of  yon  are  young,  and  light  of  step — and  light  of  heart, 
which  is  still  bette»->-w8lt,  welt,  my  lass,  perhaps  not  so  light  <fl 
heart  aa  n%ht  be  at  your  years— birt  all  that  will  change  for 
yoB^— and  I  think  when  you  are  np  at  the  bnm  of  Qnair— you 
will  find  it-an  yonr  i«!ind—- to  cross  the  Hinch  Moor  to  Yarrow 
Water.  Newark  OasUe  you  umll  see — then  you  will^tum  to  go 
down  th?  Yarrow  Yale — but  not  with  any  sad  heart,  Maime— I 
forbid  ye  -diat^it's  a  beautiful  place,  Yarrow,  though  it  had  its 
t»«gediss  mi  sorroiWB  in  the  olden  time-'^'^Hiid  you — yon  are 
yoang-.^yon  ha^>life  before  you— and  I  tell  ye  it  is  with  a  light 
and  glad  Jieartjum  must  go  down  the  Yarrow  Yale.  "Wby,  lass, 
you'll  come  to  Mount  Ben{,«r — you'll  come  to  l>fybope  'Power 
— you'U  come  to  Altrive — and  St.  Mary's  Loch-^nd  the  iJioch 
o'  the  Lows— «nd  Chapel-hop(H>4>ut  mind  ye  now-.»-if  it's  bftd 
weiKth«r<— ye^  not  to  come  ronning  away,  and  idtogethcr  mi»' 
tsMng  the  plaoe— ^e'll  just  stop  somewhere  in  tlie  neighbor^ 
Itood  until  it  clears."  And  then  he  added,  in  &  wistfal  kind  of 
w&y,  "I  once  had  thoughts— of  taking  yc  there  myself,  Maifirie..'^ 

^  And  so  you  will,  grandfather !"  she  plended.  ' 

"  No  more — no  more,"  he  said,  as  if  not  heeding  her.  '^  And 
why  iihonld  a  young  life  be  clouded  f  —  tlie  two  of  them — 
they'l]:  be  fine  company  for  each  other— when  they're  wanderittg 
— along  by  the  side  of  Yaarow  Water."  :  Bat  hi»re  he  recalled 
himself;  and  would  have  Maisrie  sit  down  again  to  that  list ;  !d 
order  thai  the.  book  might  be  pushed  rapidly  forward. 
'  It  was  on  this  same  evening  that  Dr.  Lenxie,  on  arrinng  to 
pay  Mi  aocmtotaed  visit,  went  into  tilio  httle  parlor  and  sent  for 
Vincent.    Vincent  came  down-staira. 

"Doyo  ^e  thott"  isaid  he,  holding  <>ut  a  book  that  was  in 
his  hand. 

'Vmoent  took  the  voltiune  from  him  and  gioaeed  at  the  tiUe— 


m 


\§TAMD   VAST,  ORAtQ-ROYSTOlir  I 


"  Recent  and  Living  Scottish  Poets,  by  A.  G.  Mnrdoch."    He 
not  in  the  least  astonished — ^bat  he  was  angrj  and  indignant 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  "  what  of  it  f  Do  you  mean  to  say  yon 
are  going  to  vex  an  old  man,  who  may  be  on  his  death-bed,  by 
bringing  charges  of  plagiarism  against  him.  I  dare  say  Mr. 
Bethune  never  saw  the  book,  or,  if  he  has  seen  it,  he  has  for- 
gotten it" 

"  I  perceive  ye  do  not  understand,"  said  the  little  doctor, 
without  tatdng  offence.  "  Whon  I  came  to  know  what  nnder- 
taking  it  was  that  Mr.  Bethune  had  on  his  mind,  I  made  sure  I 
had  either  seen  or  heard  of  some  such  collection ;  and  I  sent  to 
Edinbnrgh ;  and  here  it  is,  just  arrived.  Now  the  one  thing  he 
seems  anxious  about,  the  one  that  troubles  him,  is  getting  on 
with  this  work ;  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  coold  show  him 
there  was  a  similar  book  already  puMished,  he  might  cease 
frcttrjig — " 

*'  Cease  fretting  1"  Vincent  exclaiiDeii,  with  a  stare  of  aston- 
ishment And  then  he  hesitated.  "Well,  yon  are  an  older 
man  tbtn  I,  and  ]f  on  have  more  experience  in  these  cases ;  b»t  I 
should  have  said  that  a  cruel  disappoinment,  such  m  this  is  sure 
to  cause,  would  distress  hia  mind  beycmd  messiire.  He  raust 
oGonpy  himself  with  something ;  his  brain  is  incessantly  work- 
ing ;  and  so  long  as  he  is  talking  of  getting  out  his  book,  he  is 
at  least  looking'  forward  with  hope.  Bat  if  you  show  him  this 
volume,  it  will  hi  a  crushing  blow ;  the  very  thing  he  seems  to 
live  for  will  be  taken  from  him ;  he  will  feel  injuiod  by  boxng 
anticipated,  and  brood  over  it  Of  course  I  have  no  right  to 
speak;  I  am  not  a  relative;  but  aok  his  granddaughter— she 
knows  him  better  than  any  one — " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right — perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  the  lit- 
tle doctor.  "  It  was  merely  an  ides  of  mine — thinking  it  would 
quiet  him.  Bat  on  refleetion  I  will  not  risk  it;  it  may  be  bet- 
ter not  to  risk  it" 

"  la  that  ease,"'  Vincent  struck  in,  promptly,  "  will  you  let  me 
tie  up  the  book  in  paper,  and  will  yon  take  it  away  with  yon 
when  you  go  t  I  mean,  Jiat  I  don't  wish  Miss  Bethune  to  see 
it  Hho  has  plenty  to  think  of  at  present ;  don't  woiTy  her  with 
a  trifling  matter  like  this.  It  is  of  no  consequence  to  her,  or  to 
any  Luman  being,  how  many  collectionti  of  ScQjt'^'>  poems  may 
be  published — the  more  the  merrier — ho  long  as  readers  can  b? 


^^ 


•»^ 


■■ 


igm^ 


H 


ih."  HevM 
indignant, 
in  to  say  you 
leath-bed,  by 
lare  say  Mr. 
t,  he  has  f  or- 

litde  doctor, 
what  under-  > 
[  made  sure  I 
and  I  sent  to 
one  thing  he 
is  getting  on 
old  show  him 
might  cease 

tare  of  aston- 
are  an  older 
ci  cases ;  bnt  I 
cm  this  is  sure 
re.  He  must 
38Eantly  work- 
is  book,  fee  is 
show  him  thiff 
g  he  seems  to 
aied  by  bfliing 
re  no  right  to 
iaughter— she 

;,"  said  the  lit- 
oiing  it  would 
ii,  may  be  bet- 

f7i}i  yon  let  me 
iway  with  yoa 
Bethune  to  see 
woiry  her  mth 
>«  to  her,  or  to 
"'»  poems  may 
readers  can  b<» 


OtAMfi  VASX,  0>iJO-aOTaTC»l 


«ftl 


found  for  them ;  but  ahe  is  anxious  and  nervoos  and  tired  at 
presenfr--and  it  might  surinise  her,  perhaps  vex  her,  to  find  that 
this  volume  had  been  published." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,"  the  do<!tor  said,  taking  the  failure 
ot  his  ingenious  little  ^heme  with  much  equanimity.  '*I  will 
put  the  book  into  that  side-board  drawer  until  I  come  down ; 
and  then  I  can  take  it  away  with  me  without  her  or  any  one 
having  seen  it." 

The  next  day  brought  Vincent  an  unexpected  and  welcome 
surprise.  He  had  been  out  of  doors  for  a  brief  breathing-space, 
and  was  returning  to  the  inn,  when  he  saw  in  the  distance,  coming 
down  the  Cupar  road,  a  wagonette  and  pair.  He  seemed  ioia»> 
how  to  recognise  the  two  figures  seated  in  the  carriage ;  looked 
again ;  at  last  made  certain — they  were  Lord  and  Lady  Mnssel- 
buigh.  Of  course,  in  such  circumstances,  when  they  drove  up 
to  the  door  of  the  inn,  there  was  no  great  joyf nlness  of  greet- 
ing ;  only  a  few  customary  questions,  and  professions  of  hope 
for  the  beet ;  but  at  the  same  time,  Vincent,  who  was  touched 
by  this  friendly  act,  could  not  help  saying : 

"  Well,  this  is  like  you,  aunt." 

**  Ob,  your  letter  was  too  much  for  me,  Vin,"  she  said,  with 
frank  good-nature.  "I  did  not  wait  for  the  telegnun — I  trust 
there  will  be  no  n^  to  telegraph  for  anybody.  Bnt  I  don*t 
want  you  to  give  me  any  credit  I  wftnt  to  appear  as  I  am ;  and 
I've  always  told  you  Tm  «  selfish  woman— the  generous  creature 
m  Hubert  here,  who  i^tsisted  on  coming  all  this  distance  with 
me.  And  now  I  want  you  to  understand  the  full  extent  of  my 
twlfisihness.  You  are  doing  ho  good  here— -of  course.  You  are 
probably  in  the  way.  But  all  your  affairs  in  London  will  be 
compromiiied,  if  yon  remain  here ;  Grandison's  private  secretary 
cannot  be  absent  at  svch  a  time—" 

*'  There's  St,  John  ]"  Vincent  exclaimed,  r«iemng  to  his  col- 
leagne  in  the  office  thiftt  had.  been  put  in  commlBsiou. 

'*He'H  not  in  the  House,"  rejoined  this  ptactical  and  very 
charming  person ;  "  and  the  short  and  the  long  of  it  is  that  you 
most  go);  back  to  London  at  ones.  That  is  part  of  my  scheme ; 
the  otlr,cir  is,  that  I  ahatl  take  your  place.  I  shall  be  of  more 
use.  You  say  there  in  no  immediate  danger.  So  much  the  b<»t- 
kr.  Go  away  back  t<3  ypur  post  If  anything  should  happen, 
I  could  be  of  more  jiemce  than  you.    What  could  yon  dof 


■■'mMf.<i.w»uiriiew»d^t;agtw*h3re«iiw 


'tSKfc- 


MiM  Bethnne  eonld  not  retoni  to  Loadoe  'irith  fon—^a^  go 
into  lodgings  of  yonr  choosing.  I  jirill  look  after  her— if  id^e 
will  allow  me — if  she  will  let  bygones  be  bygones.  I  will  ask 
her  pardon,  or  do  anything ;  but  I  don't  suppose  she  ia  thinking 
of  that  at  present.  Yon  go  back  witl^  Hubert  and  leave  me 
here.    I  can  shift  for  myself.*' 

*f  I  think  it  is  a.sen8ible  arraageniettt,"  her  husband  said,  idly 
looking  around  at  the  rather  shabby  furniture. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,  annt,**  Vineent  said— ^' and  very  far 
frum  being  selfish.  But  it  is  impossible.  I  must  remalD  here. 
I  have  duties  here  as  well-aa  eiaewhere— perhaps  nmre  impor* 
taat  in  my  own  mght  Bnt-^at— now  thst  yon  are  here-*-** 
.  «  Oh,  yes,  rU  stay,"  said  she,  good>Batofedly.  <"  Well,  Hnberl^ 
it  is  you  who  are  packed  off ;  I  suppose  you  can  retom  to  Edin- 
bnrgl.  to-night.  I  brought  a  few  things  with  me,  Vincent,  in 
case  I  should  be  wanted ;  will  yon  fetch  them  in  from  the  wag- 
on«tte.f  Still,  I  wish  I  ooakl  persoade  yon  to  go  back  to 
London!".  ^./-Vi^t!*  ,v>*.-.»j  .^*i4-.  i*;-"*,^- 

knd  in  this  manner  it  was  t^l«dfifaase%iirgh  became  inr* 
stalled  in  the  inn,  making  some  little  excuses  to  Maisrie.  She 
and  her  husband  had  been  in  the  neighborhood.  'They  had 
heard  of  Mr.  Bethnne's  serious  illness,  and  of  Vineeint's  having 
eomft  down  from  towsh  Could  she  be  of  any  help!  And  so 
forth' 'Maisrie -titianked  her,  of  coarse ;  bat  did  not  take  moeh 
notice  of  her ;  the  gul  just  then  having  many  things  in  her  mind. 
For  her  gnmdfaUier's  deHrium  was  at  tunes  m^^re  pronoanc^ 
now;  and  in  these  paroxysms  she  Alone.oodd  soothe  irim. 

Lflidy  Mosselburgh,  indeed,  rather  hong  bade  from  entering 
the  siekHFootn,  without  stating  her  reasons  to  any  one.  On  every 
occasion  that  she  saw  Maisrie  she  was  most  kind  and  consider^ 
ate,  and  solicitous  about  the  girl  herself;  bot  she  betrayed  iio 
great  ooncc'4^  about  the  old  man,  farther  than  by  uaking  the 
usual  inquiliea  When  Vincent  saj^sted  to  her  that,  if  she 
did  not  go  into  i;he  room  and  see  Mr;  Bethoae,  hisgrauddsagh* 
ter  might  think  it  strnnge,  she  said  in  reply, 
:  ^Sbit  he  won't  remember  me,  Via.  We  neve^  met  bat  at 
Henley." 

>'"  He  remembers  everything  that  ever  happened  to  him,"  was 
the  >uicwer.  '*  His  nsomory  is  wonderful.  And  perhaps— after* 
wordfl — ^yoo  may  wish  yon  had  a^.id  a  civil  word  or  two." 


^ 


r<oil>-«Ba  go 
'  her — if  she 
.  IwUlMk 
•  ii  ihinldng 
ud  leave  me 

uid  said,  idly 

'and  very  far 
romaiii  here. 
vKHre  impoT' 
ireheare— ** 
VlTell,  Habert^ 
ttora  to  Edio- 
B,  Vincent,  in 
!rom  the  vrag- 
)  go  back  to 

gh  became  in- 
Maisrie.    She 
d.    They  had 
neeint'a  having 
elpr!    And  so 
Diot  taltemneh 
^  in  her  mind, 
re  pronoanc^ 
>the  Urn, 
from  entering 
one.   On  every 
I  and  conaideT' 
lie  betrayed  ho 
bynmking  the 
ter  that)  if  ahe 
ia-granddaagh- 

vt*  met  bat  at 

d  to  him,"  was 
perhaps — after* 
or  two." 


Maim  Mat,  OMAM>MTaffo«t 


•<  Oh,  very  wett,"  ahe  said.  «•  Whatever  yon  thhOc  right  WiU 
yon  come  with  me  now  f 

She  seemed  a  little  apprehensive— «he  did  not  si^  why.  They 
went  QpHstairs  together.  The  door  of  the  sicfcHroom  was  open. 
Maisrie,  when  she  perceived  this  visitor,  rose  from  her  seat  by 
the  bedside ;  but  Lady  Mnsselbaigh  motioned  her  to  keep  her 
place,  while  she  remaiced  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
waiting  to  see  if  Mr.  Betbane  wonld  take  any  notice  of  her. 
Bnt  his  eyes  were  turned  away ;  ud  he  was  mattefing  to  him* 
self  almost  Inandibly — ^they  coald  only  catch  a  Word  here  and 
there— Galashiels — ^Torwoodiee — Selkirk— Jedborgh — ^nodonbt 
he  was  going  over  in  his  own  mind  those  scenes  of  his  yoath. 
Then  Maisrie  said,  very  gently, 

«<  Grandfather  r 

He  tnmed  his  eyes,  and  they  rested  on  the  stranger  for  a  see* 
ond  or  so,  with  a  eurionsly  pozzled  expression.  She  went  forward 
to  the  bedside. 

^Vm  tinid  you  don't  remember  ntO)"  sidd  ahe^  diflUira^; 
'•  It  was  at  Henley  we  met — ^"      -    m-  .  ...» 

"  I  remember  yen  very  well,  madam,  very  well  indeed,"  aaid 
he,'  receiving  her  with  a  sort  of  old-fariiioned  and  ceremomens 
politeness — as  far  as  the  wasted  frame  and  poor  wsadenng  wjtd 
wonld  allowi  <*  I  am  sorry — to  have  to  welcome  yoa—^  so  poor 
a  honse — these  are  altered  conditions  traly'— "  He  was  still 
looking  corionsly  at  her.  •''Yes,  yes,  I  ronember  yon  well* 
madam — and — and  I  will  not  fail  to  send  you  xuy  monogn^h  on 
the"- the  Beatons  of  the  Western  lales'-^I  will  not  ftdl  to  send 
it— bnt  if  ye  will  forgive  roe — my  memory  is  so  treacherons— 
will  yon  for^^ve  me,  madam',  if  your  name  has  escaped  ma  iat 
the  moment — " 

*•  This  is  Ijtdy  Musselburgh,  grandfather,"  Maisrie  intoiposed, 
quietly.  ■  -  '  '  ■"-■•*• 

<*MQSselburgb— Musselburgh,^'  he  said ;  sad  then  he  wrat  mi, 
amid  the  pauses  of  his  laborious  breathing:  "Ah,  yes-<»yonr 
husband,  madam,  .is  a  fine  young  man— «nd  a  good  Scot— aada- 
cious,  intrepid,  and  gallant — perhaps  a  lit^e  cynical  in  public 
eMaivB — gireat  measures  want  earnest  convictions — it  may  be  that 
bis  lot  has  fallen  in  over-pleasAnt  places — and  he  has  chosen  the 
easier  path.  Well,  why  not! — why  not  I  There  are  some  whose 
fate  it  Is  to— to  fight  a  hard  fight ;  while  othen— othom  find 


MAin>  FAwr,  ouATik-momoMi 


4t4 


nothing  but  siBOQtbneM  And  peace— let  tbem  thank  Heaver  for 
it — and  enjoy  ii.  I  hope  he  will  hold  on  his  waj  with  a  noble 
cheerfqlne8»— despising  the  envy  of  enemies — a  noble  cheerful- 
ness— I  hope  it  may  be  his  always — mdeed,  I  know  none  de- 
S'rving  of  better  fortune." 

It  was  now  abundantly  clear  to  Lady  Musselburgh  that  he  did 
not  in  any  way  associate  her  with  the  arrangement  that  had  been 
ejSected  l>"  Qeorge  Morris ;  and  she  was  much  relieved. 

"  I  mustn't  disturb  you  any  longer,"  said  she.  "  Indeed,  I 
only  came  along  to  see  if  I  oould  be  of  any  assistance  to  Miss 
Bethnne.  I  hear  she  has  been  doing  far  too  much.  Now  that 
is  very  unwise ;  for  when  you  are  getting  better,  and  need  con- 
stant care,  then  she  will  find  herself  quite  worn  out" 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  right,"  said  he,  '*  I  wish  ye  would  persuade 
her — ^take  her  In  hand — ^make  her  look  after  herself — but  she 
has  a  will  of  her  own,  the  creature — a  slim  bit  of  a  lass,  ye  might 
think — ^but  it's  the  spirit  that  endures — shining  clear — clearer 
and  clearer  in  dark  times  of  trouble.  And  she — she  has  had  her 
own  troubles — and  suffering — ^but  never  a  word  of  complaining 
— obedient — willing~-ready  at  all  timra  and  seasons — loyal — 
dutiful — and  brave.  What  more  could  1  say  of  hert — what 
more  t  Sometimes  I  have  thought  to  myself — ^ihere  was  the — 
the  courage  of  a  man  in  that  slim  bit  creature — and  the  gentle- 
ness of  all  womankind  as  well—" 

'■  Grandfather,"  said  Maisrie, "  you  mustn't  talk  any  more  now 
•^yon  are  keeping  Lady  Musselburgh  wuting." 

"  But,  niadam,"  he  continued,  not  heeding  the  girl  at  all, "  you 
must  remembr  her  descent — she  comes  of  an  inflexible  race — 
she  is  of  pure  blood — it  is  the  thoroughbred  that  holds  on  till 
its  heart  breaks  in  two.  How  could  she  help  being  proud- 
spirited, »nd  silent  in  endnnq^cei  aud  br^'.  e .'  Perhaps  you  may 
loiow  that  it  was  of  one  of  her  ancestors — as  he  Uy  in  his  grave 
— ^thi^  some  one  sfid— t<  There  li^a  one  who  never  feafcd  the  face 
of  man' — a  noble  inscription  for  a  tombstone— ' who  never 
feared  the  face  of  man  '-<-" 

Maisrie  leaned  over  and  said  to  him,  quite  gently, 

".Or»ndfather,  yon  aro  forgetting ;  it  was  of  John  Knox  that 
that  was  s^d." 

He  looked  at  her  d'./ubtfully ;  and  then  seemed  to  he  puasling 
with  his  own  memory. 


mmmaBsmmMam 


k  Heaver  for 

with  &  noble 
>ble  cheerf  al- 
tow  none  de- 

h  that  he  did 
hat  had  been 
eved. 

« Indeed,  I 
tance  to  Miaa 
\l  Now  that 
tnd  need  con* 
t." 

)ald  peronade 
self — but  she 
lass,  ye  might 
clear — clearer 
e  has  had  her 
I  complaining 
sons — loyal — 
>{  her  t— what 
ere  was  the— 
nd  the  gentle- 
any  more  now 

irlataU,"yoa 
flexible  race — 
i  holds  on  till 
being  proad- 
rhaps  yon  may 
ay  in  hia  grave 
feafed  the  face 
)— <  who  never 

kly, 

ohn  Knox  that 

to  Ite  pouling 


Piff*niffi 


•TAITD  riST,  OmAtO-BOrSTOR  I  4111 

"  Perhaps— perhaps,"  he  said ;  and  then  he  added,  quite  hum- 
bly, "  I  b^  your  p«don  for  misleading  you,  madam— I  did  not 
intend  it — but  I  forget  things — and  Maisrie  is  generally  right. 
John  Knox  f— perhaps— perhaps— I  thought  it  was  a  Beaton  or 
a  Bethune — but  I  cannot  remember  which  of  them — perhaps  she 
is  right — " 

He  dosed  his  eyes,  and  turned  away  a  little,  as  if  to  debate 
this  question  with  himself — or  perhaps  to  seek  some  rest ;  see- 
ing which,  Lady  Muscelburgh  and  Vincent  quietly  withdrew  and 
went  down-stairs. 

••Poor  old  man  1"  sidd  she,  when  they  were  in  the  small  par- 
lor. ••  There  is  a  great  change  in  him,  entirely  apart  from  his 
illness.  Even  In  manner  he  is  not  nearly  so — so  grandiose  as  he 
used  to  be ;  sometimes  he  was  quite  humble.    And  as  for  her— 

my  heart  bleeds  for  her.    I  will  do  anything  you  like,  Vin if 

she  will  accept  What  is  more,  I  will  confess  to  you  now  that, 
as  far  as  she  is  concerned,  I  am  convinced  I  was  quite  wrong. 
Yon  were  right ;  your  eyes  were  wide  open,  after  all  How  can 
one  judge  of  an/  one  by  an  afternoon  and  an  evening  at  Henley  f 
That  was  my  only  chance.  T.  .  irhaps,  there  was  a  little  ex- 
cuse for  prejudice— there  wa^  i  >«)ciation—  But  we'll  say 
no  more  about  that.  I  confesn  a  v^as  wrong ;  you  were  right. 
That  girl  is  as  true  88  steel  If  she  g^ves  her  husband  half  the 
devotion  she  bestows  on  that  old  man,  he'll  do  very  well"  She 
looked  at  her  nephew.  Then  she  said,  suddenly:  ••Vin,  you 
don't  say  a  word.    I  believe  yon  have  never  forgiven  me  one  bit !" 

♦*  Oh,  yes,  I  have,  aunt,"  he  made  answer,  uneasily.  ••  But  there 
are  some  things  that  need  never  have  happened." 

She  regarded  him  again. 

•«Vin,  you  are  too  unforgiving!  But  ean  I  not  make  up! 
See,  now  I  If  Miss  Bethnae  is  left  alone— I  should  like  to  call 
her  Maisrie,  if  she  will  let  me;  indeed  I  should;  but  it  is  so 
difficult  to  get  any  nearer  her— she  is  all  wrapped  up  in  her 
anxiety  about  her  grandfather;  well,  if  she  is  left  alone,  I  will 
take  her  with  me.  I  will  take  her  to  London.  She  will  stay 
with  me ;  there  will  be  ir  home  for  her  there,  at  any  rate ;  and 
we  may  become  better  friends.  Oh,  I  know  we  shall ;  it  is  only 
that  at  present  she  cares  for  nothing,  and  thinks  of  nothing,  but 
her  duty  towards  her  grandfather.  I  intend  to  be  very  kind  to 
her — I  intoud  to  win  her  affection  if  I  can—" 


i*»- 


■^iAWW 


4fl 


BTAlri)   VAttV,  OAAia-SOTSTOirt 


"  And  I  shall  be  very  grateful  to  yon,  annt,"  said  be.  '  Bat 
it  u  hardly  time  yet  to  speak  of  such  a  thing ;  Mr.  Bethane  ha> 
always  had  a  wonderfal  constitution.*' 

"  Did  yoa  notice  how  n^ticnnt  the  doctor  waa  this  moroiug  f ' 
she  asked — and  he  did  not  answer. 

Bat  at  least  oue  thing  that  Lady  Mosselbnrgh  had  oboeired 
id  mentioned  was  tme  :  mach,  if  not  all,  of  the  old  gMmdiose 
manner  had  gone  awn^  from  Qeorge  Bethnne.  If  on  rare  octii- 
sions  some  flash  of  defiance  flamed  ap — as  if  he  were  3till  face 
to  face  with  adveniity  and  disappointment,  and  determined  not 
to  abate  one  jot  of  his  pride  and  independence — be  was  ordina- 
rily qnite  gentle  and  eren  humble,  especially  towards  Maisrie. 
On  this  sauo  evening  he  said, 

"Margaret"  (as  he  sometimes  called  her  now,  forgetting), 
"  will  yo  read  to  me  the  Forty -sixth  Psalm  f 

She  weut  and  got  the  book  and  began ; 

"  Qod  ii  oar  refuge  and  our  strength, 
In  straits  a  present  aid ; 
Therefore,  aULUmgh  the  fearth  rMDOTe, 

WewillDetbeafnld: 
Tbeai^  UUa  aaaidat  the  sea  be  oast; 
Thovgh  waters  roaring  make 
-  Aad  inwbled  be ;  yea,  thoi^{h  the  hills 
Bj  swelUng  seas  do  shake. 

"  A  riTer  is,  whose  streams  do  glad 
Tbecilyof  our  Ood; 
Tike  hoi/  plao(H  wherein  the  Lord 

Host  high  hath  his  abode. 
God  fn  ibe  uldst  of,her  doth'  dwell; 

Nothing  shall  ber  remove; 
The  Lord  to  her  oar  helper  will, 
^  And  tlut  right  early,  proTS." 

But  when  she  had  got  so  far,  he  said : 

"  Mai|[aret — I  hope- ye  will  not  take  itill— if  I  intemtpt  y»— 
it  is  no  nnkindness  I  mean,  my  lass — ^bnt,  ye  see,  yeVe  got  the 
English  speech,  as  is  natural— and  I  was  trying  to  thkik  iiow  my 
father  used  to  read  out  the  Pstilm  at  family  worship— «od  ye've 
not  got  the  Scotch  way — nor  the  strong  emphasis-^how  could 
•ye  f— how  could  ye  t  Te'll  not  take  it  ill,"  he  went  on,  with  the 
'most  piteous  concern  risible  in  his  face—'*  ^e'll  not  think  it's 
any  unkindness — " 


^a 


MMMBB 


1  be.    '  Bnt 
Bfttbanehiw 

is  morning  f 


had  obDerred 
uld  gMwdioM 
on  rate  oco*- 
nete  still  face 
jtemined  not 
le  was  ordinar 
rards  Maisrie. 

T,  forgetting)i 


[  iiaterrupt  ye— 
e,  ye've  got  the 
to  think  how  my 
ship— and  ye'te 
wis— how  conld 
rent  on,  with  the 
11  not  think  it's 


MAim  WAWt,  OSAUHU>Tn>OMI 


4M 


«« No,  no,  no,  grandfather  r  rite  BiUd.  •'Ofeoanenot  Shall 
I  ask  Mrs.  MaeGill  to  come  np,  to  read  to  yon  In  the  Bootoh 
way!" 

"  No,  no  one  bnt  yon,  Maisrie— no  one  but  yon~»perltsp«  if  yon 
take  the  One  hnndred  and  twenty-eizth  Psalm-*«*  When  Sion's 
bondage  God  tnmed  baek,  as  men  that  dreamed  were  we' — 1 
mind,  they  nsed  to  sing  that  to  the  tone  of  'Kilmarnock'-- and  the 
yonng  women's  voices  sonnded  beaotifnL  Bnt  you're  not  vexed, 
Haisrie  I — for  I  did  not  mean  any  nnkindness  to  ye,  my  dear—" 

**  No,  ao,  grandfather,"  she  M^d ;  and  she  tnmed  to  tiiis  other 
Psalm,  and  read  it  to  him ;  and  even  after  that  it  was  some  time 
before  she  could  assure  him  that  she  had  not  been  in  the  Imst 
hnrt. 

fvo  more  of  those  long  and  anxious  days  weni  hj ;  the  fever 
wa.;ing  and  waning  by  tarns ;  bnt  all  the  time  the  strength  ol 
that  once  powerful  frame  was  slowly  ebbing  away.  For  <me 
thing,  Us  mind  was  well  content.  He  had  no  more  anxiety 
about  Maisrle ;  he  appeared  to  regard  her  future  as  well  assured. 
He  ky  quietly  murmnring  to  himself ;  and  they  eonld  make  ont, 
from  chance  sentences  here  and  there,  that  hb  was  go<ng  over 
his  boyhood's  days  again — ^bird's-nesting  in  the  spring  woods, 
making  swaying  seats  ont  of  the  shelving  branches  of  the 
beeches,  guddling  for  trout  In  the  small  hill-bums.  An  old  re- 
frain seemed  to  haunt  him, 

"  Bejond  thee,  dearie,  beyond  (bee,  dMrio, 
And  oh,  to  be  lying  bi^ond  tfaee : 
Ob,  sweetly,  Boandly,  weel  nej  be  eleep, 
Thki'a  laid  in  the  bed  beyord  thee." 

**J>ie  V&gtlnn  tehmigm  im  WaiUe:''*  that  phrase  also  returned 
again  and  again.  And  th^n  he  would  go  back  to  his  school- 
days, and  tell  Maisrie  about  a  HtUe  patch  of  garden  that  had 
been  given  all  i  ^  himself ;  how  he  had  watched  the  yellow  spears 
of  the  .recuses  pierce  the  dry  earth,  and  the  green  buds  begin 
to  show  on  the  corrant-bushes ;  how  lie  had  planted  SQarlet*ran- 
ners,  and  stuck  the  wands  in,  and  trained  the  young  shoots ; 
how  he  had  waited  for  the  big  red  globes  ol  the  peonies  to  nn^ 
roll ;  bow  he  had  white  monkshood,  and  fonr  distbet  colors 
of  columbine.  Then  his  pets;  his  diversions^  his  teinible  ad* 
veatares— half  drowned  in  •  mill-dam — lost  in  a  snowstorai  on 
Laidlaw  moor— tiie  honors  of  a  certain  church-yard  which  he 


■'H^t^ifflW'*" 


■ 


^^ 


498 


■TAirO  VAIT,  OBAIO-ROrSTOII  I 


had  ■ometimos  to  p«M,  nlone,  on  the  dark  wlntor  •TCilngi. 
Maisrie  did  not  seek  to  interrupt  him.  There  was  no  Agitation 
in  these  wandering  reminisci^nces.  Nay,  they  seemed  to  soothe 
him ;  and  sometimes  he  sank  into  an  altogether  dosing  state. 

"  Vincent,"  said  Lady  Muaselhurgh,  when  these  two  happened 
to  find  tLernseWes  together,  u  le  room  below,  '*  have  yoa  no 
aathority  over  that  girl  t    She  is  killing  herself  I" 

"  It  is  no  use  rcmonstmting,"  said  he.  "  She  knows  what  the 
doctor  has  not  dared  to  t«1l  her.  She  uees  that  her  grandfather 
is  so  weak  ho  mi»y  slip  away  at  any  moment,  without  a  word  or 
a  sign." 

But  on  the  evening  of  this  second  day,  the  old  man,  with 
such  remnant  of  his  former  resolution  and  defiance  as  still  clung 
to  him,  seemed  to  try  to  shake  off  this  fatal  lethargy — if  only  to 
say  farewell.  And  in  this  last  hour  or  so  of  his  life,  the  spec- 
tacle that  George  Bethune  presented  was  no  unworthy  one. 
Death,  or  the  approach  of  death,  which  ennobles  even  the  poor- 
est and  the  meanest,  was  now  dealing  with  this  man ;  and  all  the 
husks  and  histrionic  integuments  that  had  obscured  or  hidden 
his  true  nature  seemed  to  fall  away  from  him.  He  stood  out 
himself — no  pressure  of  poverty  distorting  his  mind — no  hope- 
less  legreto  embittering  his  soul.  It  was  Scotland  he  thought 
of.  In  those  last  minutes  and  momente,  the  deepest  passion  of 
his  heart — an  inte.jse  and  proud  love  of  his  native  land — burned 
pure  and  strong  and  clear ;  and  if  he  showed  any  anxiety  at  all, 
it  was  merely  that  Maisrie,  who  was  a  kind  of  stranger,  should 
form  a  liking  for  this  country  to  which  she,  too,  in  a  measure, 
belonged — that  she  should  see  it  under  advantageous  conditions 
—that  she  should  think  of  all  that  had  been  said  of  those  hills 
and  vales,  and  endow  them  with  that  added  charm. 

"  But  I  do  not  fear,"  he  said  (his  eyes,  with  some  brilliancy 
still  left  in  them,  fixed  on  her,  his  voice  low  and  panting). 
"  Yon  have  an  inheritance,  Maisrie — it  is  in  your  blood — a  sym- 
pathy— an  insight — Scotland  claims  you — as  one  of  her  own. 
I  knew  that  when — when — you  used  to  play  the  Scoteh  airs  for 
me — ^the  trembling  string,  that  made  the  soul  tremble,  too— 
*  The  sun  shines  bright  in  France ' — *  The  Lowlands  o'  Holland, 
that  twined  my  love  and  me ' — it  was  Scotch  blood  that  made 
them  thrill.  Ye'll  not  be  disappointed,  Margaret — ^yeMl  under- 
stand—when ye  get  to  Yarrow— and  Ettrick  Water — and  the 


■wpip 


nter  •▼eilng*. 
ts  no  Agitation 
lined  to  soothe 
r  dosing  state. 
I  two  hsppened 
**luive  yon  no 

^ovB  «h«t  the 
ber  grandfather 
bhout »  word  or 

old  man,  with 
ice  as  still  clung 
iirgy — if  only  to 
s  life,  the  spec- 
unworthy  one. 
s  even  the  poor* 
nan ;  and  all  the 
onred  or  hidden 
,    He  stood  out 
mind — no  hope- 
land  he  thought 
iepest  passion  of 
ive  land — burned 
ny  anxiety  at  all, 
stranger,  should 
so,  in  a  measure, 
igeouB  conditions 
aid  of  those  hills 
lann. 

h  some  brilliancy 
>w  and  panting). 
>ur  blood — a  sym- 
one  of  her  own. 
he  Scotch  airs  for 
ul  tremble,  too— 
irlands  o'  Holland, 
i  blood  that  made 
^et — ^ye'U  under- 
i  Water— and  the 


STAMD  VAST,  OKAIO-HOTITOIII 

murmur  of  the  Tweed.  I  meant— to  hare  taken  ye  myself-— 
but  it  was  not  to  be — yo'll  have  younger  and  happier  guidance 
—as  is  but  natural — I — I  wish  ye  both  well.  And — and  I  would 
like  ye — ^to  go  in  the  spring-time,  Maisrie— and — and  if  ye  could 
find  out  William  Motherwell's  grave — I  have  forgotten  where  it 
is — my  memory  is  not  what  it  used  to  be — but  if  ye  could  find 
out  Motherwell's  grave — ^ye  might  put  a  handful  of  primroses  on 
it— for  the  sake  of — of  Jeanie  Morrtion." 

He  relapsed  into  silence ;  his  breathing  grew  more  labored 
— and  also  feebler ;  it  was  evident  to  those  standing  by  that  the 
end  was  not  far  off  now.  Maisrie  sat  holding  bis  hand  in  hen ; 
the  fountain  of  her  teara  all  dried  up ;  her  tragic  grief  seemed 
to  have  turned  her  to  stone.  Even  those  spring  days  of  which 
he  had  spoken — when  she  would  have  her  young  husband  by 
her  side— they  would  want  something.  Her  grandfather  had 
been  kind  to  her ;  and  they  had  been  through  many  years  to- 
gether. 

He  lay  thus  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  the  tide  of  life  slowly  re- 
ceding. He  made  but  one  final  effort  to  speak — nay,  for  a  sec- 
ond it  seemed  as  if  he  would  raise  his  head  to  give  effect  to  his 
last  proud  protestation. 

"  Maisrie — Maisrie — they  never  saw  me  cowed — never  once  1 
I  met — ill  fortune— or  good — face  to  face.  ...  I  held — by  the 
watchword— of  our  house — Stand — Fast — Graig-Boyston ! .  .  ." 

It  was  his  last  breath.  And  so,  with  a  lie  on  his  lips,  but 
with  none  in  his  heart,  old  Cleorge  Bethune  passed  away; 
passed  away  from  a  world  that  had,  perhaps,  underatood  him, 
but  none  too  well 


TU  BSD. 


"■*<!. 


■i*' 


ft<w^»*«»**»»4sSsa><art«*«^^  a^iasa^«i4*B«tei^wft*s»A^»tefis6«ss«^!^^ 


